The Second Element II: Through A Glass Darkly
by Tyraa Rane
Summary: Seventeen years after his death, Guybrush still haunts the Caribbean––and the minds of pirates who blame him for LeChuck's rise to power. There seems to be no hope left for anyone anymore...but someone still has one card left to play.
1. Act One: Salt In The Wound

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkey Island series or any of the characters/places/things/rubber chickens with pulleys in their middles therein. I'm just borrowing. If I promise to give them all back when I'm done, will you not sue?  
  
  
  
  
The time is out of joint--O cursed spite,  
That ever I was born to set it right!  
-- Act I Scene 5_  
  
  
  
  


_Through A Glass Darkly_  


  
  


Act One: Salt in the Wound  


  
  
  
Commodore LeChuck opened the door and slammed it shut again the moment he was through. The only other person in the room, a ghostly specter of a woman floating three inches off the floor, barely noticed his entrance.  
  
I just had another run-in with yer husband, he growled, spitting out the last word.  
  
Elaine smirked. Did he scare you off again?  
  
Growling still, LeChuck formed a small boulder from the dust that perpetually surrounded him and hurled it at her. It flew through her waist and bounced off the far wall. Elaine didn't even flinch.  
  
I'll take that as a yes.  
  
LeChuck ignored her and set about pacing the room. It was so small that he easily crossed it and started back again in just a few steps. Aye, and ye won't be smirkin' so much when I get that divorce...and that no-good Peepgood out of my hair.  
  
You mean like you tried to do five years ago?  
  
Shut yer mouth, woman! It would've worked, too, if _ye_ hadn't gotten in the way.  
  
Of course it would have, Elaine answered in what at first seemed to be a soothing voice--but in truth held a mocking undertone. And I'm sure all those other attempts would have worked, too.  
  
LeChuck pointedly ignored her again. I'll be gettin' that divorce soon, Elaine. Then ye'll change yer tune, aye...  
  
She laughed. Good luck. You'll need it.  
  
He shook his head. They'll have ta give in sometime...or ye will.  
  
I've told you before, LeChuck, she said, waving her hand in dismissal, I won't marry you until you can show me _legal_ divorce papers.  
  
LeChuck sighed. Then I'll be leavin' for Lucre Island ta talk to those blasted lawyers again. _Ye_ stay put--when I come back, I'll have them papers.  
  
Elaine only smirked again at his retreating back. Like I have much of a choice? She leaned against the wall, kept from sinking through it by a complicated combination of spells. It's been seventeen years, LeChuck, she yelled as the door shut. I'm not giving in now!  
  


***  


  
Armena sighed and brushed the mud from her pants. The raft was stuck in the part of the Marshe she'd always been warned to avoid--it was wedged between a rusty iron fence and a withered old tree. She had waded into mud and swamp up to her knees to try and pull it out, but the raft was as stubborn as the mysterious current that had gotten her stuck there in the first place. And Armena was fast losing what little patience she had.  
  
You stupid--you fight like a cow, you stupid raft!  
  
She sat back down on it and sighed. Now I'm going to be late... She sighed again, eyeing the raft as if she wanted to try kicking it again. A lock of blonde hair fell into her eyes and she grumbled under her breath as she flicked it out of the way. Finally she dug into her pockets, looking for something that might help. That turned up nothing of use; the only thing in her pockets was a scrap of paper. Definitely late, she muttered under her breath.  
  
Armena got back up and picked up the pole she used to steer the raft, wedging it in just ahead of the raft itself. If this doesn't work, she said, I'm going to _walk_ there. She maneuvered the pole around so that it looked more like an impromptu lever and then, hopping over it and back into the mud, pulled on it with all her strength. The raft popped free as if it had never been stuck.  
  
She jumped back onboard, taking the pole with her, and began steering the raft in the direction she had been trying to go in the first place.  
  


***  


  
Lucre Island was one of three remaining pirate strongholds in the entire Caribbean, and more fortunate than the other two, Plunder and Scabb. Those two were left alone largely because they had nothing left to offer; they were little more than backwater holes, homes for only the most desperate of pirates. Lucre Island was left well enough alone because they had four people living there that the Pirate Commodore LeChuck didn't want to upset in any way--the Voodoo Lady, and three lawyers.  
  
Once a year for nearly sixteen years, however, Commodore LeChuck had been stopping by the island on his routine patrols. At first, the pirates living there thought he'd come to finally conquer them, as he'd done to most other islands in the Caribbean. But he'd actually come to talk to the lawyers.  
  
Every year like clockwork LeChuck came by the island to try and secure a divorce from the Law Offices of W.T.D, the only lawyers in the entire Caribbean. Every year they refused, and every year LeChuck threw a temper tantrum and vowed to return the following year, when they'd best give him what he wanted, or else. The entire event had turned into a spectator sport that drew a substantial crowd. And word had just gotten out that LeChuck's ship had been spotted by several trade ships just a few days ago, headed straight for Lucre Island.  
  
Armena drew the raft up on shore and jumped off--straight into a mud puddle. she muttered, shaking more mud from her shoes. I'll be late _and _I'll track mud everywhere. She brushed more mud from her pants--or at least tried to--and then sprinted off into the woods.  
  
Lucre's main paths had been allowed to overgrow for several years, but Armena knew the way into town well enough. She'd walked it hundreds of times before. This time, though, she was sprinting, which nearly got her lost several times. She was more than a little relieved when she finally saw the town gates up ahead. They were locked and barred, as they often were, and there was a substantial amount of pirates on guard. Armena looked at them and their mismatched weapons before finding the person she was looking for--he was a clean-shaven young man who looked as if he'd be better off working behind a desk.  
  
she hissed. When he didn't turn around, she prodded him in the back.   
  
He jumped and turned, looking at her through several long, runaway bangs of auburn hair. Oh, sorry, didn't hear you. He looked up at the cast iron gate and then back at her. You're late, Mena.  
  
She sighed. I _know_. Don't remind me. She waved her hand at the gate and then, noticing a smudge of mud on her hand, abruptly stopped. You're going to let me in, right?  
  
Bill paused for a minute, appearing deep in thought. He laughed when he saw the angry look on her face. Just kidding, just kidding! With a surreptitious nod to some of his fellow guards, Bill unlatched the gates and pulled them open just far enough for Armena to slip through. She nodded to him as he locked the gates again.  
  
Thanks. Is he here yet?  
  
Just got here a few minutes ago. He jerked a thumb over towards the city proper, where a large crowd was gathering around the law offices. Then he paused and frowned at her. Mena, are you sure this is such a good idea? The Voodoo Lady--  
  
--isn't here and doesn't care either way, Armena snapped back. I don't need her permission for _everything_, you know.  
  
Okay, sorry, don't bite my head off. Bill sighed. Go on, forget I said anything.  
  
She smiled at him and then darted off towards the crowd. She managed to slip through the crowd relatively unnoticed, moving almost to the front, where she had a clear view of what was going on.  
  
LeChuck--Commodore LeChuck, as he preferred--was in the middle of an argument with the lawyers' front door. He smashed his fist against the door with all his strength, but it held firm. _The fact that the Voodoo Lady put special hexes on the door might have something to do with that_, Armena thought.  
  
Finally, the door opened and one of the lawyers came out, straightening his powdered wig. he asked, looking up at LeChuck. Despite the fact that the giant stone demon was nearly two feet taller than he was, he still managed to look as if he were looking down at him over his pointed nose. May I...help you?  
  
Ye know what I want, LeChuck answered, growling. It's the same thing I ask ye for every year!  
  
The lawyer frowned. Sorry, we see a lot of clients, you understand, and I'm afraid that one of my...associates may have lost your file.  
  
There were snickers from the crowd. The annual losing of the file had rapidly turned into one of the island's biggest jokes. It was the only one they could pull on LeChuck and get away with.  
  
LeChuck sighed. All right. Do ye want me to explain it again? When the lawyer nodded, he continued. There's a lass I be wantin' ta marry. The only problem is, she says that she won't marry me unless she gets a divorce from her _first_ husband. He spat the last few words out with particular distaste. They're both dead, and the lass keeps tellin' me somethin' about till death do us part, not _un_death,' or whatever it is she keeps bloody screamin' at me. He sighed again and glared down at the lawyer. Now can ye get me the stupid divorce for the lass or not?  
  
The lawyer jotted down a few notes, scratched the side of his nose, then went inside without a word. The entire crowd fell silent, waiting, while LeChuck glared at the door with all his might. He looked as if he wanted to rip it from its hinges by sheer force of will. Armena's gaze fell on a chunk missing out of LeChuck's left shoulder. He could've easily fixed that, she presumed, but he wore it like a battle scar. _And that it is, _Armena thought, remembering the rumors that swirled around that wound. Rumor said that he'd earned it in a battle with the pirate Guybrush Threepwood, the man who so foolishly thought he could control the toughest pirate that ever sailed the Caribbean. _Pah_, she thought, spitting on the ground. A man standing next to her raised his eyebrows, but she only shrugged. Spitting at even the thought of Threepwood's name had become a habit over the past decade or so, at least from what she'd seen around town and in Lucre's only bar, the Rotted Coffin.  
  
Finally the lawyer returned, this time with one of his taller compatriots in tow. I'm sorry, the first lawyer began, but we simply can't grant you the divorce.  
  
We'd need proof of the first husband's death, the second lawyer continued. Or undeath, as it were.  
  
LeChuck sighed. He's buried under sixteen tons of rock and his ghost ship still sails the Caribbean! What more do ye _need_?  
  
the first lawyer said, scratching his chin, you'd also need the consent of the woman involved...which you quite obviously do not have.  
  
The second lawyer nodded in agreement. Thank you; please do visit us again for any _other_ legal troubles you may have. Then, nodding politely to LeChuck, both lawyers disappeared and shut the door as quickly as they could, and not a moment too soon. LeChuck, snarling curses under his breath, formed a large rock out of the dust surrounding his form and hurled it at the lawyers' front door. It bounced off and rolled through the crowd; they barely managed to get out of the way in time.  
  
Ye'd best be reconsidering! he yelled, shaking a finger at the closed door. I'll be gettin' married to my Elaine if it's the last thing I do! When I come back here again, ye'd best have them divorce papers ready! Still growling like that, he turned around and noticed the crowd for the first time. What're ye all standin' around for?  
  
That was the spectators' cue to scatter; it was always a good idea to clear out before LeChuck got any ideas about taking his anger out on the general populace. Armena was hurrying back towards the gates, still chuckling, when a young man caught her arm. She jumped at first, then relaxed when she recognized his face.  
  
Bill, don't sneak up on people like that!  
  
Bill grinned at her. The smile reached all the way to his light blue eyes. Sorry, Mena. I was just thinking--you don't have to go back to the Voodoo Lady's for a while, do you? They're having a party over at the Rotted Coffin...  
  
she said quickly. I probably should go back--I just wanted to see this whole thing. She gestured back towards the lawyers' offices. There was still a small crowd hanging about, making sure that LeChuck left the island without causing too much damage. The Voodoo Lady'll know I'm gone if I stay any longer.  
  
His face fell. Look, I know she said you weren't supposed to be anywhere near the town on days when LeChuck shows up, but you're here now...the damage is already done.  
  
Armena snorted and shook her head at him. This from the guy who didn't even want to let me through the gates earlier because the Voodoo Lady said...'  
  
He held his hands up in mock-surrender. Okay, okay, point made. I'll see you later. He paused, then added, When's the next time she'll send you into town?  
  
Probably not for another week or so, unless she runs out of eye of newt or something like that before then.  
  
Bill laughed. Yeah, right. Well, see you. I should go make sure LeChuck clears out. And with a quick nod to her, he hurried off in the direction of the harbor, where LeChuck's black-sailed ship was docked. Armena took that as her cue to hurry off in the opposite direction, towards the town gates. The pirates on guard opened them for her as she went by--they all knew who she was, as the Voodoo Lady's ward and apprentice. She managed a small nod to them as she headed for the overgrown path.  
  


***  


  
The return trip took much less time than the trip there had. She knew the way to the Voodoo Lady's shop by heart, and there were no currents to pull her off course, this time. Soon she was pulling up alongside the dock that led to the shop. The shop itself was an unimpressive thing--a ramshackle little shack that listed uneasily to one side. The interior, though, was more to the Voodoo Lady's style, with eccentric decorations and voodoo tools and ingredients scattered around everywhere. It smelled faintly of formaldehyde, too, which Armena thought only a bit better than the odor the swamp had a tendency to give off.  
  
She crept in through the front door and eased it shut behind her, quickly glancing over to the large chair where the Voodoo Lady usually sat. It was empty. Armena let out a small, quiet sigh of relief and relaxed. She was just heading for one of the back rooms, where she _should_ have been working on sewing together voodoo dolls for a shipment to one of LeChuck's smaller strongholds on Pinchpenny Island, when a flash of light and a soft _ahem_ stopped her in her tracks.  
  
she began, turning around slowly, I can explain--  
  
There is nothing _to_ explain, the Voodoo Lady answered, her voice stern. She was nearly a foot and a half shorter than Armena (not including her tall hat, which today was a shade of burgundy), but still cut an impressive figure. You went into town to see the spectacle they make of LeChuck's visit, yes?  
  
Armena sighed. There was no point in lying.   
  
The Voodoo Lady nodded sharply and then moved around Armena towards her chair. Settling herself in it, she said, And do you know _why_ LeChuck visits every year?  
  
Armena's eyebrows arched involuntarily. She had been expecting a long lecture, not this. Well...he's trying to force that Elaine woman into a divorce so he can marry her, everyone knows that.  
  
Elaine Marley-Threepwood, the Voodoo Lady prompted, nodding again. She was and most likely still is the most beautiful and influential woman in the Caribbean. She holds more sway over LeChuck than he'd like to admit.  
  
Yeah, too bad she picked such a lousy first husband, Armena added, spitting again. The glare she got from the Voodoo Lady made her wish she hadn't.  
  
We've been over this before, Armena, she said, her voice low. Anyone else would have thought it a soothing voice, but Armena knew better--that was the voice she took whenever she was frustrated. No matter what the rest of the Caribbean thinks, you won't spit on Guybrush Threepwood's name here, or anywhere.  
  
Armena nodded dutifully and sighed. Can I go now? I have to finish sewing those voodoo dolls before tomorrow.  
  
Yes, go, the Voodoo Lady said, waving a hand. As Armena moved towards the back room, though, she held her hand up again to stop her. Wait--did he see you?  
  
Armena blinked, confused.   
  
LeChuck--did he see you today, in the crowd?  
  
She shrugged. The Voodoo Lady had closed her eyes and taken on a pensive look that Armena didn't like at all. I don't think so. Doubt it. Why?  
  
The Voodoo Lady didn't answer her question. She merely frowned and muttered something that might've been a Armena, trying to shrug it off, scooted off into the back room and sat down in front of a pile of little heads and arms and legs, digging around for a sewing needle and thread.  


  
***  


  
It was two weeks before the Voodoo Lady would let her go back into town for supplies and to arrange for a shipment of voodoo powders to be sent to Jambalaya Island. Even then, she'd advised Armena to be quick about it, and looked for a moment as if she wouldn't let her go at all. Armena tried to chalk it up to LeChuck's visit, which always seemed to make the Voodoo Lady tense and more withdrawn than usual, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else involved.  
  
Still, Armena bought the needed supplies and made the necessary arrangements, then walked into the Rotted Coffin despite the Voodoo Lady's advice. She waved to the barkeep and owner as she came in.  
  
he called cheerfully. Been a while, eh lass?  
  
She nodded and slid into a seat at the bar. It was midday; there was no one in the bar except for a few comatose drunkards. Too long, she said ruefully. I've been...kept busy. She made another quick glance around the room. How've you been, Mr. Cheese?  
  
Ignatius Cheese flashed her another toothy grin. Been busy m'self. I'll say one thing about LeChuck's visits: they keep me in business. The grin faded slightly, replaced by a frown. Mr. Cheese was one of the few people left alive who had lived through the tumultuous weeks that had led to LeChuck's takeover, and he'd been caught in the thick of it, too, from what Armena heard. Rumor had it that he used to own a bar on Mêlée Island and had been there when LeChuck had invaded. He didn't talk about it, though, and Armena never asked. Their friendship was tenuous at best--he was also one of the rare few who didn't use Threepwood's name as a curse, something Armena never understood.  
  
he said, breaking the silence, ye learnin' any more of that hoodoo lately?  
  
Voodoo, and no, not really. Armena sighed. The Voodoo Lady's been obsessed with spirits since before I can remember; it's not like that's changed. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was a fraud.  
  
Mr. Cheese laughed. Aye, and ye'd be payin' for a comment like that, too, if she heard ye. They both laughed briefly before he motioned to the bar. Can I get ye anything?  
  
No, thanks. I was just looking to see if Bill or anybody was around. I forgot he doesn't wake up before six.  
  
Yeah, well, give im a few more hours...  
  
Armena shook her head. I can't. I've got to get back or the Voodoo Lady'll kill me.  
  
I'm surprised she hasn't yet, lass." He patted the bar near her hand and then shrugged. Don't be such a stranger, all right?  
  
I'll try, she said honestly. Tell Bill I said hello."  
  
Aye, and should I be tellin' him a bit more, at that? Mr. Cheese added with a wink.  
  
Armena rolled her eyes and made as if she might slap him. No, you won't, and you never will. She sighed. Mr. Cheese had somewhere gotten the idea that she--_how did he put it?_-- Bill Duncan the wanna-be pirate. She was doing her best to knock that idea out of him.  
  
All right, he said again. Go on then.  
  
She was just standing up to leave when the door opened and a young man walked in. He was tall, with dark brown eyes and similarly colored hair. He also walked with a distinct limp which seemed somehow out of place on a man his age. Mr. Cheese and Armena exchanged a glance--he wasn't from Lucre Island. Everyone on Lucre knew everyone else after seventeen years of living on the same island together.  
  
While Armena immediately distrusted the newcomer, Mr. Cheese tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Hello there! New in town? The man grunted and slid into a seat. He spared Armena a passing glance. Mr. Cheese tried talking to him again. Can I get ye anythin'?  
  
the man said at last, I'm looking for the lawyers.  
  
Ye just missed their office's over that way. He pointed vaguely in the right direction. The man sighed.  
  
Not again...bartender, get me a drink. This is the fourth time I've missed the place.  
  
Mr. Cheese, nodding in sympathy, poured him a grog and set it on the bar. The man took a long drink and then looked over at Armena again. he said, then trailed off. Armena folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows at him. The man didn't strike her as the most intelligent person she'd ever come across, even for a pirate, and she had a feeling that whatever he said next wouldn't be very impressive. He tilted his head at her. Hey...you know, you look kinda like--  
  
No she doesn't, Mr. Cheese interrupted. Both Armena and the stranger shot him a curious glance. Ye're just seein' things, lad.  
  
I am not, he shot back angrily. She looks just like--  
  
There's a lot of people in the Caribbean with blonde hair, lad. Maybe ye ain't seen em all, but it's no strange thing.  
  
  
  
I'm tellin' ye, ye're seein' things. How long have ye been sailin' out there? Ye got scurvy?  
  
Armena looked back and forth between the two of them like someone watching a swordfight. It was starting to make her a little lightheaded. I don't have scurvy, the man shot back, slamming his mug down on the bar. Mr. Cheese grumbled something about not breaking the dishware. I just came in from Pinchpenny.  
  
That shut Mr. Cheese up in a hurry. Pinchpenny Island was one of LeChuck's smaller strongholds, but it had the fortune--or misfortune, to hear anyone on Lucre Island say it--of being strategically located almost in the center of the Tri-Island Area. A good number of his skeletal troops were stationed there.   
  
Seeing that he had Mr. Cheese's attention now, the man continued. I'm Deathbeard, captain of--  
  
Ye've got a _beard_? Both Mr. Cheese and Armena couldn't help but laugh.  
  
The man growled under his breath. --_captain_ of Commodore LeChuck's third flagship, the _Hades_.  
  
Armena's eyes went wide. As quietly as she could manage, she reached down and picked up the supplies she'd been sent to get. Mr. Cheese tilted his head towards the door, indicating for her to leave as soon as she could. So why're ye here, eh? Been sent to invade us like ye tried to do ta Scabb?  
  
Deathbeard winced. LeChuck's fleet had sailed for Scabb Island three years ago with the intent of conquering it and forcing the other two free remaining islands to submit--but they'd been pushed back just as soon as they got their ships into the harbor. For an island with few supplies and fewer pirates, they were a tough lot. Deathbeard spat back, Commodore LeChuck's sent me to try and talk to the lawyers. He thinks that I might be able to...reason with them.  
  
Threaten em, ye mean, and ye've got ta be daft. They don't listen to LeChuck--  
  
_Commodore_ LeChuck!  
  
--to LeChuck, and they won't listen to ye, Mr. Cheese finished angrily. Now I'm thinkin' that ye don't have permission to be here. Any ship that wants ta land or send men ashore's got t'have permission. So ye'd best get out before Inspector Canard gets a hold of ye.  
  
Deathbeard grunted again. And you'd throw me out, would you?  
  
  
  
And I suppose this stupid wench here'll help, because she's--  
  
I said shut yer mouth about that!  
  
Armena interrupted, let him finish. She was halfway to the door already but had stopped, listening to the argument.  
  
Lass, don't worry about that, he's just babblin' is all. He don't know what he's talkin' about.  
  
So why won't you let him finish his sentence?  
  
Mr. Cheese stopped and scratched his head. He couldn't seem to come up with a decent argument to that. Well, lass, maybe...  
  
Deathbeard saw his chance and immediately interrupted him. I was _saying_ that she looks remarkably like the late Guybrush Threepwood.  
  
As quick as lightning, Mr. Cheese grabbed Deathbeard by the shirt collar and started shaking him, launching into a lecture about something Armena couldn't quite hear. She herself spat on the ground and shouted back, You take that back!  
  
Deathbeard pried himself away from Mr. Cheese's grasp to give Armena a long look. he said, maybe the stories are wrong. Maybe Threepwood didn't kill his daughter after-- And at that moment, Mr. Cheese slugged him. Deathbeard hit the floor, groaning and rubbing his jaw. Armena stared at him, fists clenched, barely containing her rage.  
  
I am _not_ related to that idiotic, murdering--  
  
Ye're not, lass. She looked back up. Mr. Cheese was looking at her, his expression somehow sad. Guybrush's daughter is just as dead as he is. He sighed. Now go on, ye'd better be gettin' back to the Voodoo Lady. I'll be takin' this sorry scuse for a pirate over to the Hall of Justice.   
  
She nodded goodbye, then slipped out the door, still seething. No one else in the town took any notice of her, and the gates were for once left unlocked. She walked straight through them but didn't go straight back to the Voodoo Lady's--instead, she wandered the paths aimlessly, sometimes straying off them entirely with every intention of getting lost. It took a while--nearly an hour, by her guess--before she felt calm enough to try and go back to the Voodoo Lady's. It took her another half-hour to find the path again. From there, she made it back to the Voodoo Lady's shop quickly, but was surprised to find a raft already there. People on Lucre Island didn't visit the Voodoo Lady very much; most of her business was with other islands. Armena walked into the shop on tiptoe.  
  
There's no need for this concern, Inspector. I've told you before that she is perfectly safe here regardless of her choices and whatever Commodore LeChuck--or his lackeys--may see.  
  
I don't care, Inspector Canard answered. His back was towards the door and he didn't see Armena come in. The Voodoo Lady did, however, and made a surreptitious signal for her to stay quiet. The only reason I let you bring her here in the first place was because you promised me she'd bring no harm to the island.  
  
And she won't, the Voodoo Lady said, smiling. It's LeChuck who would do you harm.  
  
Frustrated by the remark, Inspector Canard turned to go--and stopped short, seeing Armena standing in the doorway. Oh dear, he murmured, but quickly composed himself into the stern policeman Armena had known all her seventeen years. He tipped his hat to her, politely, but not enough to reveal all his gray hairs, and said, Good day Armena. Not waiting for an acknowledgment, he turned back to the Voodoo Lady. We'll finish this discussion later, then. He tipped his hat to her as well and then disappeared out the door. He spared Armena one last, wary glance as he left.  
  
Once he was gone, Armena stalked over to the Voodoo Lady's chair on silent feet. She dropped the supplies she'd bought and then took a step back, folding her arms across her chest. What was that all about?  
  
All what?  
  
Don't try that trick with me! Why was he here?  
  
The Voodoo Lady sighed and pressed the tips of her fingers together. You should know, she said calmly. You were, after all, involved.  
  
Armena dropped her arms to her sides, sighing. Right...the whole..._thing_ at the Rotted Coffin.  
  
She waved to an empty chair. Sit down.  
  
Armena sighed again and sat. It promised to be a long lecture, from the looks of things. Why don't we just get right to it? she said, interrupting the Voodoo Lady just as she started to speak. Mr. Cheese hit him--_I _nearly hit him--because he decided to tell me that I looked like a Threepwood.  
  
Yes, and you have the temper of a Marley.  
  
And you fight like a cow! Armena shot back without thinking. When she looked up at the Voodoo Lady, though, it was plainly obvious that she wasn't provoking a simple insult fight. She was looking at Armena with a strangely nostalgic expression on her face.  
  
You actually do look quite a bit like your father...except your eyes. You have your mother's eyes.  
  
Armena started nervously twirling a lock of hair between her fingers but, looking at it with sudden disgust, stopped. What are you saying? My parents died when LeChuck first took over the Caribbean--didn't they?  
  
The Voodoo Lady nodded. Yes, they did. She sighed. What I neglected to tell you earlier was that your parents were the first--the _very_ first.  
  
So...what are you saying? Armena said again. LeChuck killed my parents; we've been over this before.  
  
I never said that LeChuck killed your parents. In fact, I'm not entirely certain that they're dead.  
  
Armena blinked and shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. Can we stop dancing around the subject here, please? She clenched and unclenched her fists. Why would Inspector Canard think I was a threat?  
  
Have you heard the rumors surrounding Guybrush Threepwood's death?  
  
Armena sighed. she answered through gritted teeth. When the Voodoo Lady didn't say anything more, Armena took it as a prompt to keep going. She sighed again, rolling her eyes. When he couldn't control LeChuck, Threepwood fled Monkey Island. Governor Marley--  
  
  
  
--Governor _Threepwood_ was already on her way there, having been captured by LeChuck's men. Rather than let her fall into said evil pirate's hands, Threepwood killed her and supposedly their daughter, who hadn't been seen since Plunder Island nearly fell to LeChuck's men. In a fit of rage, LeChuck killed Threepwood and buried him under a ton of rock on Monkey Island, but his ghost still sails the Caribbean in his little ghost ship. She waved her hands in a mock-gesture of sailing. It was all very tragic and they didn't live happily ever after, the end.  
  
The Voodoo Lady almost smiled at Armena's sarcasm but stopped herself. That is the rumor, yes. But no one really knows what happened to that little girl...do they? Armena blinked. The Voodoo Lady, seeing that she finally had her full attention, continued. What many--including LeChuck himself--do not know is that the girl was taken off Plunder Island long before the skeletons ever made landfall. LeChuck has always _suspected_ that she might still be alive and has been looking for her ever since he learned Guybrush Threepwood had a daughter.  
  
I take it he hasn't found her, Armena answered dryly.  
  
the Voodoo Lady said, smiling, it's very easy to hide something right under LeChuck's nose, Armena Torquemada Marley-Threepwood.  
  
There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, Armena slammed her fist down into the arm of the chair and jumped up. She began pacing back and forth, looking at the Voodoo Lady with wild, almost frightened eyes. It's not true, she said at last, slowly. It's not true! I can't have a name that long...and I can't be related to that murderer! Take it back!  
  
The Voodoo Lady let her pace a while longer before answering. I can no sooner take back what I have said than I can go back seventeen years and refuse to take in a little girl with no other safe haven, Armena.  
  
Armena, though, wasn't listening. She simply whirled around and shouted again, It's not true!  
  
It _is_ true. I only tell you now because one of LeChuck's men has seen you--if he manages to report back to LeChuck that a young woman who looks remarkably like both his arch-enemy and his would-be bride is here, you would not be safe. Lucre Island would not be safe. You had to be told. LeChuck may fear me...but rage often transcends even fear.  
  
She folded her arms across her chest. Well, it doesn't matter, because it's not true. She snorted. LeChuck'll have found' the wrong person.  
  
If you do not believe me, ask Ignatius Cheese. The Voodoo Lady was glaring at Armena now, as if she was having a difficult time understanding why Armena flatly refused to believe her. He knew Guybrush Threepwood well--he recognized you the moment he saw you. And of course Inspector Canard had to be told; anything that might be a threat to Lucre had to be reported directly to him. You may ask him, as well, and he will tell you the same story.  
  
Of course, Armena answered sarcastically, though her voice had taken on a defeated tone. Because LeChuck would destroy an entire island just to get at one girl--who _isn't_ me, by the way.  
  
LeChuck would destroy the entire Caribbean to find you if he had to. Guybrush Threepwood proved a persistent, if not formidable, annoyance. His daughter may prove the same--if not worse.  
  
Armena sighed, drawing her arms up around her shoulders. Can I...can I just go to bed? I'm tired.  
  
The Voodoo Lady nodded. We'll continue this in the morning, then. She disappeared in a flash of light to wherever it was she went at night--Armena had never figured out just where, exactly. She was just glad for the opportunity to be alone.  
  
I'm _not_ related to him, she said again to the Voodoo Lady's empty chair, spitting out the words one by one.  
  
the Voodoo Lady's voice answered back, you are.  
  
Armena jumped, even though she knew she should be used to that sort of thing. I hate it when she does that.  
  


***  
  


Armena slipped past a heavy curtain of voodoo beads and into the back room she'd adopted as her bedroom. It wasn't much, just a bed in one corner, surrounded by heaps of voodoo test kits and some of the Voodoo Lady's old school textbooks, but it was a welcome relief from the strange atmosphere the rest of the shop had suddenly taken on.  
  
She sighed and kicked a book out of her way, lighting a voodoo lamp that hung in the corner. It flickered, then flared to life to give the room a sickly green tinge. Armena picked up the book she'd kicked aside and idly flipped through the pages for a few minutes. Then, bored of that, she tossed the book into a pile and looked around the room for another distraction.  
  
Her eyes fell first of all on the old, cracked mirror that hung on the opposite wall. She'd accidentally cracked it practicing a hex that was supposed to keep angry spirits away--though it certainly hadn't kept the Voodoo Lady's resulting angry lecture at bay.   
  
The mirror's upper left hand corner was so cracked that it distorted a good portion of her face, making her look as if she had several extra pair of eyes and a spiky hairdo. She snorted at it, as she always did, and stood up so that her reflection could be caught in one of the mirror's unbroken parts.   
  
Armena stared for a long time at the teenage girl staring back at her. Her eyes were a brilliantly dark shade of blue, though in the green light they looked more brown than anything else. And _she_ said I have my mother's eyes... she murmured, staring at her reflection. _But that's ridiculous_, she thought. She tilted her head to one side, trying to avoid enough of the green light to make her eyes turn blue again. _No one ever talks about Elaine Marley-Threepwood's dark blue eyes. So I _can't_ be related to her. Or _him_. No, definitely not._  
  
She sighed and shook her head--her logic, she knew without even thinking, was horribly flawed. No one ever talked about what Elaine looked like anymore, and hadn't since before Armena could remember--all they ever talked about was what had happened to her.  
  
Armena moved away from the mirror and peered out into the shop. It was dark; the Voodoo Lady only left a couple of torches burning, just in case someone came running in with an emergency--but since not many wanted to brave the Mystes O'Tyme Marshe at night, that rarely, if ever, happened.  
  
She stepped back into her room and looked around again. She was tired, but didn't even want to think about sleeping. I hope you're happy, she grumbled over her shoulder, somehow imagining that the Voodoo Lady could hear her every word. Finally she sat down on the edge of the bed again, intentionally avoiding looking at the mirror.   
  
She picked up another book off the floor and flipped through it, leaning back so that her head rested against the wall. After a minute, though, she stopped and looked up at the mirror--her own distorted reflection seemed to be enjoying her inner confusion. Oh knock it off, you bloody thing, she muttered, tossing her book at it. It missed and bounced off the wall with an indistinct thud.  
  
Armena curled up and wrapped her arms around her knees, sighing. I wish I hadn't said anything, she said. Then, I wish _she_ hadn't said anything. And then, finally, looking hatefully at the mirror, Maybe it would be better if I just disappeared...  


  
***  


  
That very same night, Armena broke into Bill's apartment above the Palace of Prostheses and, nearly tripping over a hundred different objects and articles of clothing on the floor, tiptoed over to his bed and shook him awake. He jumped and reached for his sword before he realized who it was.  
  
he asked, bewildered. What're you doing here?  
  
she began, not waiting for him to fully wake up, I need three crewmembers. You're number one; that just leaves two more. Pick two pirates you trust and meet me down by the docks--I've already gotten us a ship.  
  
Bill reached out and lit a candle on the nearby nightstand. The faint light it provided allowed him to see at least part of Armena's face. She looked more than a little bewildered herself. What's going on? Mena, does the Voodoo Lady--  
  
Shh! I'm leaving Lucre Island, that's all you need to know.  
  
He looked at her and for the first time noticed the bag slung over her shoulder. It was usually full of voodoo ingredients, but now it looked as if it contained personal items, instead. Mena, are you in some kind of trouble?  
  
No...well, not really, it's just that-- she sighed. Never mind. Can you find two more crewmembers or not?  
  
Only if you tell me what's going on. Why the rush? And why do I get the feeling the Voodoo Lady doesn't know what you're up to?  
  
Armena rubbed her temples and looked as if she wanted to box Bill's ears. I have to get away from her. She's--she's insane. She thinks my middle name is Torquemada.  
  
And only a madwoman could've come up with a name like that, Bill answered, grinning faintly.  
  
..._And_ she thinks my last name is Marley-Threepwood.  
  
Bill stared blankly. he said at last. That _is_ crazy.  
  
I know. Now come on, get your lazy rear end out of bed, I need your help.  
  
He sighed. All right, get moving. I'll meet you by the docks in a while...God, what is it, two in the morning? It'll be tough finding pirates who aren't hungover. But I'll try.  
  
Armena smiled faintly. She stood up and turned to go, but Bill's hand on her shoulder stopped her.  
  
Mena, you don't think she might be telling the truth, do you?  
  
She shook her head. She can't be. There's no way. He nodded and let her go. Armena picked her way back through the room, closing the door behind her.


	2. Act Two: Several Things Rotten On Mêlée

Act Two: Several Things Rotten On Mêlée Island  
  
  


Armena, leaning against the side rail and peering down at the sea below, sighed. They'd been at sea for three days now--she, Bill, and the two elderly pirates Bill had rounded up, a pair by the names of Santiago and Castaneda. They spent most of their time playing chess and griping about their arthritis, though, much to Armena's frustration. She'd tried talking to them gently, she'd tried shouting at them, and she'd tried every distraction she could think of--but no matter what she did it just wasn't good enough.  
  
Aha! You call _that_ a move? That is not a move! That is a clumsy blunder!  
  
My hand is still on it!  
  
No, it is not!  
  
Yes, it--  
  
Armena whirled around. Would you two _shut up_? she snapped. They both stared at her for a minute, then went back to arguing. She sighed and gave up. You're both hopeless, she muttered under her breath.  
  
Bill left the wheel for a moment--he was the only one among them with even a smidgen of navigation experience--and leaned against the rail beside her. Mena, are you all right?  
  
I'm fine.  
  
He shook his head. No, Mena, you're not. You've been snapping at everyone even more than usual, you stole an entire _ship_ for god's sake, and now we're just cruising around the Caribbean for no good reason!  
  
I didn't steal the _Iago_, I borrowed it. She folded her arms across her chest and refused to make eye contact with him. Besides, I left the captain a note of credit from the Voodoo Lady's shop. They won't care.  
  
Bill snorted. I think maybe this Marley-Threepwood thing is getting to you a little more than you'd like to admit. Just because someone says you look like a Threepwood' doesn't mean they're telling the truth...  
  
Armena looked at him, briefly, then shook her head. The worst part is, I think she _is _telling the truth. The Voodoo Lady has no reason to lie. It's just--I hate him. Look at what he did to everyone, to the whole Caribbean. I don't _want_ to be related to him. Who would?  
  
Bill shrugged, looking down at the sea below. So you don't have to be.  
  
Now she did make eye contact with him. Her eyes had a strange, haunted look to them that he didn't like at all. she asked, her voice taking on a desperate tone.  
  
Find him. Find him and ask him. If anybody knows who his daughter is, it'd be Guybrush Threepwood. Armena opened her mouth to shoot back a sarcastic reply but stopped, mulling over the idea. Finally, she nodded. Bill grinned. Great. They say his ship's been seen around Mêlée a lot lately; I'll set a course.  
  
Maybe we can pick up some new crewmembers while we're there, she muttered under her breath, jerking a finger back at Santiago and Castaneda.  
  
Only if you want ghosts on your ship. There hasn't been anybody _alive_ living on Mêlée for seventeen years.  
  
Anything's better than those two.  
  
Bill grinned. If you say so, Mena. He scurried back to the wheel as fast as he could, consulting a map of the Tri-Island Area only briefly before setting a course straight for Mêlée Island.  


  
***  


  
I don't understand ye, Elaine, LeChuck said, looking her square in the eye. Ye could be queen of the whole Caribbean--  
  
The whole Caribbean minus three islands, she answered back with a smirk. He growled at her.  
  
--the _whole_ Caribbean, and ye say no. Blast be yer excuses, woman, they're not makin' any sense! He cracked his knuckles, which made a sickening crunch of stone against stone. Elaine flinched, but hid it well. If the man I sent out can't be gettin' divorce papers once and for all, then I'll be havin' a weddin'--with or without yer consent. He added the last with a particularly spiteful grin.  
  
And without finally getting rid of Guybrush? Elaine shot back, not even missing a beat. He'll put a stop to that, I'd imagine.  
  
Aye, yer imaginin'. He can't stop what he don't know about. LeChuck turned for the door and forced it open. The priest'll be here in a few days. Ye'd best be ready; I'm not takin' no fer an answer again.  
  
Even as the door slammed shut, Elaine spat back, Go to hell and _stay there_!  
  


***  


  
Inspector Canard started to run his fingers through his hair but stopped, realizing just how thin his hair was getting. We've searched the entire island. We can't find her, that...Bill character, or those two chess players. And I've got an irate captain demanding to know just where his ship is. Isn't there _anything_ you can tell me?  
  
The Voodoo Lady smiled, tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair. I've told you, Inspector. She'll be back in due time. As will your captain's ship, presumably.  
  
Aren't you worried LeChuck will find her?  
  
Quite frankly, Inspector, I worry more that _she_ will find _LeChuck_. She sighed. However, if my word alone does not satisfy...tell the captain that I'll pay back half the worth of the stolen ship. Full price if she doesn't return. He nodded and turned to go, but she held up a warning finger and continued, But when she does return, I'd like my money back. _Commodore _LeChuck doesn't pay his suppliers nearly as much as he should.  
  
Inspector Canard nodded again. If that'll be all...?  
  
It should, Inspector.  
  
Good. I'll send the captain along for his money right away then. He replaced his hat back on his head and left, shaking his head as he went. Right spooky, that one, he muttered.  
  


***  


  
They made it to Mêlée in two days' time, once Bill got his bearings straight. The weather was calm and clear, and it stirred something in Armena's veins that had her acting nicer than normal to her crew, so long as they didn't mention the change. _I hate to admit it,_ she thought, peering out of the crow's nest late one night, _but I could get used to this...if only LeChuck's ships weren't around._ They'd dodged several of them by the skin of their teeth; the area around Mêlée appeared to be swarming with them. Armena didn't even have to guess why.  
  
She sighed as a faint fog blew in. Just what we need...fog. Then, leaning over the lip of the crow's nest, she yelled,   
  
Down on deck, a lamp flickered and then flared to life.   
  
She sighed again, this time rolling her eyes. You weren't _asleep_, were you?  
  
He paused and cleared his throat.   
  
Just--just never mind. D'you have the spyglass down there?  
  
Papers and maps got shuffled about and the lamp almost tipped over, but Bill caught it. Yeah--yeah, it's here.  
  
Okay, I'll be down in a minute to get it. Just stay there--and don't fall asleep again, please.  
  
He laughed, although nervously.   
  
She scrambled out of the crow's nest and down the mast, hitting the deck with a loud and ungraceful thud. She brushed herself off and strode over to the wheel with an attempt at grace, though Bill's snickering put an end to that. Oh, and I suppose _you'd_ like to be stuck up there the whole night, Armena snapped darkly.  
  
Bill answered, scratching his chin (he was trying to grow a beard, but all he'd managed was a faint, scraggly stubble), if I were up there, then _you'd_ be steering the ship.  
  
And then we'd all drown.  
  
Or sail around in circles until the scurvy set in. He handed her the spyglass. It gleamed copper in the lamplight. Here you go--not that it'll do much good. This fog's getting thicker.  
  
Worth a shot, anyway, she said. How far are we from Mêlée, do you think?  
  
Bill peered at one of the maps--I don't know...about a day, maybe? At the most?  
  
Armena sighed and hung her head in her hands. Oh, this is great, a navigator who can't navigate. What's next, a compass that doesn't point north? She shook her head and, giving Bill one last reproachful glare, headed back to the crow's nest. She'd just scrambled in and gotten back to her feet--again, less than gracefully--when something caught her eye.  
  
A ship drifted lazily in the fog, as if watching them, before it turned and disappeared. One thing was unusual about it--it was entirely see-through. It didn't appear to have seen them, and if it had given no sign.  
  
she shouted, though her voice nearly came out at a frightened whisper the first time she tried. Bill, to your right!  
  
A pause, then he shouted back, You mean starboard?  
  
Armena sighed. Yes! Just turn the ship in _that_ direction, right now. I think we've finally run into Threepwood.  
  
All right, Bill answered, but you keep a sharp eye out. I can't see anything in this soup.  
  
Nodding to herself, Armena settled in. _We're going to find Threepwood tonight,_ she thought, _I know it._ And then we can clear up this whole thing once and for all, she added aloud. And then I can go home--maybe. She sighed--the prospect of going home and back to work for the Voodoo Lady seemed less and less appetizing the more time she spent at sea. Whoever her parents were, Armena figured, they must have been die-hard pirates or sailors of some sort.  
  
As the ship turned lazily about--Armena thought about yelling at Bill over it, but decided not to push her luck--she caught sight of the ghost ship again. It wasn't quite what she was expecting. It looked like one of LeChuck's ships, and for a moment she nearly called out for Bill to stop and turn the ship back around. But on second glance, she saw that the normally ragged sails were patched--she couldn't tell the color, but it didn't look as if the patches were of the same black material that made up the sails.  
  
We'll gain on her, Bill called up, trying to reassure her. I don't think she's moving very fast.  
  
Armena squinted at the ship--it hardly appeared to be moving at all. No, it's not.  
  
They pressed on in silence for a while, before Bill yelled up, Um, Mena?  
  
She sighed.   
  
Have you thought about how we're going to get on that ship, exactly? Or even stop it?  
  
Fire cannons at it, maybe?  
  
But it's a _ghost_ ship...  
  
Armena sighed. All right, so he had a point. But she wasn't about to admit it. I'll think of something, she snapped back. You just steer the ship.  
  
Santiago and Castaneda straggled up on deck a few minutes later, their chess game upset by the ship's sudden change in direction. Bill quickly put them to work prepping the cannons, just in case. Armena could hear their grumbling from the crow's nest.  
  
As they gained on the ghost ship, though, the ship seemed to catch on that they were there. And though they were sailing one of the trade ships with ordinary white sails, it still began to move away as if LeChuck himself were after them. Hurry up! Armena shouted down. If they pick up enough speed--  
  
I know, I know.  
  
The fog began to thicken. Armena, sighing, pulled out the spyglass and trained it on the ghost ship, but the fog was so thick that she could barely make out their sails anymore.  
  
It cleared up for a brief instant, and Armena quickly searched the other ship's deck with the spyglass, trying to get the lay of the place. The ghost ship's crew was no bigger than hers was, with three ghosts skittering around on deck and one at the helm. Armena couldn't believe that it was _this_ motley crew that had been fending off LeChuck for seventeen years. She watched the ghost at the helm for a while, struggling to focus the spyglass. He was tall, with long hair that occasionally flew into his face in a mysterious breeze. He didn't look very happy, either--a grim expression of determination and despair marred what would have otherwise been a pretty face. Armena couldn't watch him for very long, though--his open, friendly face reminded her too much of her own for comfort, grim expression or no.  
  
She lowered the spyglass and sighed. I'm _not_ related to him, she whispered under her breath. But the more she said it, the less she believed it.  
  
Bill's voice shook her from her thoughts. The water's starting to get a little shallow...  
  
Keep going, she answered. We can catch them--besides, you said we weren't anywhere near land.  
  
I said I _thought_--  
  
Just shut up and steer the ship!  
  
Bill fell quiet and Armena, sulking, leaned against the mast and stared out at the fog. It was starting to thicken into the consistency of pea soup; soon Threepwood's ship would be lost in it for good. She squinted one last time, trying to predict where the ship was headed. After a moment she blinked, biting back a yelp of surprise.  
  
  
  
He sighed. What _now_, Mena?  
  
They're turning--away from a _tree line_.  
  
Bill swung the wheel around so hard the ship nearly flipped over on itself, but it was no good. They only managed to get it partly turned away before it slammed into the coastline--thankfully a coast, and not a cliff-face--and sent Armena flying forward out of the crow's nest. She barely had time to register that she was flying through the air straight for a grove of trees before she was flying back again, landing in the mainsail and sliding down onto the deck with an ungraceful thud.  
  
she squeaked out, that hurt.  
  
Bill rushed over to her and began helping her to her feet. You're lucky that rubber tree was there, he said, shaking his head. Are you okay? That still must've hurt...  
  
Armena staggered to her feet, leaning against the mast for support. I'm fine, she answered, brushing a tangled mess of hair out of her eyes. Then, Rubber tree?  
  
Bill shrugged helplessly.  
  
Santiago and Castaneda had been peering over the side of the ship, but ran over to them after a minute. This has to be Mêlée Island! Santiago exclaimed, nervously adjusting his bandana over and over again. They say it is perpetually shrouded in fog because of all the ghosts; this must be it!  
  
We'll just be below deck, playing chess, Castaneda added, and then the two of them quickly fled. Armena sighed.  
  
They're probably right...Threepwood probably knew he was that close to the island the whole time. He was just leading us on, trying to wreck us. Grumbling curses under her breath, she walked over to the side and peered out into the murky forest beyond. How bad do you think the damage is?  
  
I'll have to look, but I'd bet anything it's bad. I'm not sure the two of us can handle it alone...and since there's nobody else on the island, and Santiago and Castaneda aren't exactly going to be of any help...  
  
You're the one that got them, she answered pointedly.  
  
They were the only ones sober enough to see straight!  
  
Armena shook her head, standing on her tiptoes to look over the trees. I think there might be somebody else here--look. She pointed to a spot just beyond a patch of low trees, where a giant, lit neon sign flashed over and over. It cut through the fog like a knife.  
  
Bill scratched his head at it. There's not _supposed _to be anybody here...  
  
Well I don't think they just accidentally left the lights on for seventeen years, she shot back sarcastically. She watched it flash a few more times before adding, I'm going to go have a look. Maybe somebody there'll be able to give us a hand.  
  
I'll come with you; there's bound to be some pretty unfriendly ghosts around, and--  
  
Armena held up a hand, interrupting him. _You _stay here and start repairs. The Voodoo Lady taught me more than a little bit about spirits, remember? I can handle things.  
  
He didn't look convinced. Well, there's some root beer in the hold, why don't you take a bottle with you just in--  
  
I'll be _fine_. She sighed. If I'm not back in two hours, then you can start worrying. Then, giving him one last stern look to drive her point home, Armena swung over the side of the ship and dropped down to the ground. She winced as she hit the ground--still a little shaken from the incident with the rubber tree. And she winced, too, at the aura that permeated the entire island. She'd never felt so much overwhelming despair, and she wished suddenly that the Voodoo Lady hadn't insisted she learn how to pick up on these things.  
  
Plucking up her courage, Armena stepped into the forest. The _Iago _was quickly swallowed up by fog and wayward tree branches, and she almost considered going back--almost. She forced herself on ahead anyway, figuring that she'd rather deal with angry ghosts instead of Bill's teasing that she'd chickened out.  
  
she muttered, stepping over a fallen tree, when I get my hands on you so help me I'll-- She stopped short as a ghost flitted just out of her field of vision. Armena froze, waiting, but it didn't return. They really ought to rename this island, she said, shaking her head and continuing on. Mêlée' just isn't spooky enough.  
  
It was well known that, ever since the last living refugees had been evacuated (ironically enough by Guybrush Threepwood), the island had become a refuge for undead of the ghostly variety. It had started when LeChuck sent several ghosts out as commanders of his undead army--they'd chosen the island as their headquarters, and not even LeChuck himself could convince them to leave it. Ghosts had flocked there ever since, though no one knew if they were loyal to LeChuck or not. No one was ever brave enough to visit the island and find out.  
  
Armena sighed, drawing her arms up around her shoulders. The cold, caused by all the ghosts flitting about, was almost unbearable, and her thin blue tunic wasn't much in the way of protection. Wish I'd brought my coat, she cursed aloud, just to break the silence. I should've known it would be this cold...  
  
Another ghost flickered by her, closer than the first. She picked up the pace. Finally, the neon sign--which still flashed every few seconds like some sort of twisted lighthouse--came into clear view. The fog seemed to lighten considerably, too, as did the oppressive cold. Armena more than welcomed that.  
  
The building was a small, squat little thing that looked as if it had been assembled from leftovers of other buildings. But it sat proudly next to its neon sign all the same. A sign thrown up over the door proclaimed it to be Stan's Root Beer Futures, and a sign in the window flashed exactly out of rhythm with the other sign. Armena had to go inside before all the neon gave her a headache.  
  
The inside, however, proved to be no better. The place was decorated with loud, garish colors that still stung her eyes--even though the wallpaper was peeling from the walls and the tacky red carpet was doing its best to roll up. A desk sat at the far end of the room, guarding a closed door, a file cabinet that looked suspiciously unused, and a couple of cobweb-covered crates.  
  
Um, hello? She cleared her throat. Is anyone here? I'm looking for--  
  
As if by magic, the door flew open and out popped a giant floppy hat. It skittered over to the desk, pulled up a squeaky chair, and sat down. Hi there! Name's Stan. Can I interest you in an exciting investment in root beer futures?  
  
It was then that Armena realized there was actually someone _under_ the hat--the same somebody who'd obviously decorated the place and put up the signs. His blue plaid checkered shirt was enough to make her eyes tear up. Um, well, no, I was actually just looking for--  
  
He sighed and looked a little disappointed. He let his strong chin droop into his open palm. Oh sure, an actual living person shows up and doesn't want to invest in something so _vital_ to _regaining control of the Caribbean_ as root beer futures. I mean come on, whose side are you on?  
  
Armena rolled her eyes. Look, um...Stan. I'm sure these root beer futures are very important--  
  
Root beer kills ghosts, you know.  
  
Yes, I know, it's one--  
  
And Mêlée Island's been having ghost problems for _years_! Suddenly, his hands began waving around like he was frantically trying to keep an insect away from his head. Armena took a step backwards, almost afraid that something was wrong with the man. How can you afford _not_ to invest? The root beer shortage just cleared up; I happen to know for a _fact_ that some buddies of mine over on Scabb Island are at work smuggling some into the area as we speak. So come on! Prices are low! Buy now, sell later when they get arrested and the price goes higher! You'll make a killing--minus my fee, of course.  
  
Of course.  
  
So whaddya say? More frantic arm waving. How much can I put you down for?  
  
Armena rolled her eyes. _Salesman. Should've known..._ she began, trying to phrase things gently. My ship's just been wrecked and we need to make repairs, but we need help. Do you know of anybody who might be able to help us?  
  
He tapped his foot against the floor and his finger against his chin. Nope, nope, sorry. There's another guy who lives on the island, but you really don't want to talk to him. But hey, did you know that if you invest _now_, by the time you're able to get off this island you'll be filthy rich!  
  
Armena raised her hand to interrupt him. Sorry--what other guy?  
  
Stan waved his hands around some more, though with less enthusiasm. Clearly he was disappointed that she wasn't interested in his sales pitch. Oh, just some pirate. He used to be my only customer, but I caught him stealing root beer from the stash I keep here, so I kicked him out. You really don't want to be hanging around him. _Really_.  
  
Her eyebrows arched. Pirate? Do you think he could fix my ship?  
  
Yes, but trust me sweetheart, you don't want to go _anywhere _near him.  
  
Armena took a few steps forward, deliberately making eye contact with Stan--though since his gaze kept flitting around the room like he was suffering from a serious caffeine overdose, that was no easy task. I need to get my ship fixed and get off this island. Could you tell me where he is?  
  
Stan, though, stayed quiet. She sighed.  
  
All right... she rifled through her pockets until she found a few pieces-of-eight. She set them down on the table and looked at Stan again. If I buy one of your root beer futures, will you tell me where he is?  
  
Stan's eyes went wide. He appeared to think about the bargain for all of ten seconds before he grabbed the pieces-of-eight and said, Well...all right. Hold on... He disappeared into the back of the room with a new, more energetic spring in his step and returned a few seconds later with a file folder. Here. Fill out this paperwork. He tossed it and a pen at Armena and she barely caught it before it hit her square in the nose.  
  
He bustled around the office while she pretended to fill out the information. Then she snapped the folder shut and handed it back to Stan. He took it, dropped it in the file cabinet (which was, as Armena suspected, empty) and then handed her a slip of paper and a dusty bottle of root beer.  
  
There you go, compliments of Stan's Root Beer Futures--besides, on this island, you'll need it. Don't forget to tell your friends about the amazing benefits of investing in root beer futures!  
  
Um, right. Will do. Armena folded up the investor's note and put it in her pocket, though she held onto the root beer. Now, do you know where I can find that pirate you mentioned?  
  
Oh--oh right, right. He's over by the Governor's Mansion; just follow the path from here. There's some sort of abandoned cave he chased all the ghosts out of or something like that. Be careful going over there, too, the place is swarming with ghosts.  
  
Right. Thanks. She nodded to him, awkwardly, and started heading for the door.  
  
Hey, don't thank _me_, thank _you_ for investing in Stan's Root-- And at that exact moment, mercifully, the door slammed shut behind her. The flashing neon started to drive her crazy almost immediately, but she still managed to locate the path and start down it.  
  
A few ghosts wandered near her on the way there, some with obvious malicious intent, but a quick shake of the root beer bottle had them scurrying away as fast as they could manage. _Well_, she thought, stepping over a fallen tree, _at least this root beer'll come in handy somehow.  
  
_Soon, she found that the path forked off in two directions. She peered down both, but it was dark and the fog was so thick she could hardly see her hand in front of her face--it looked thinner, however, down the right-hand fork. She hoped that was for the same reason there was so little fog around Stan's, that ghosts were afraid to go anywhere near the cave Stan had told her about. She took a deep breath and, clutching the root beer bottle a little tighter, headed off down the path.  
  
Her steps led her to a small grove of trees and the gaping mouth of what seemed to be an empty cave. _You think he'd at least leave a light on_, she thought, shaking her head. She went into the cave with some trepidation, picking her steps carefully and trying to make as little noise as possible.  
  
She'd only gone a few steps inside, however, when she was splattered with what seemed like water--but was actually, she figured out seconds later when it stung her eyes and smelled suspciously familiar, root beer. Armena started blinking and trying to get the stuff out of her eyes, at the same time shouting out, Do you _mind_?  
  
Someone grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her further into the cave. You're not a ghost, a man's voice muttered. His voice was deep, faintly French--of all things--and sounded as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a very long time. Who the hell are you?  
  
Armena shook the last of the root beer from her eyes and tried to focus on the shadowy figure holding onto her. she said at last, angrily. And if you're going to soak ordinary people to the skin with root beer, the least you could do is let them see your face.  
  
He sighed. All right, come on...Armina or whatever your name is.  
  
  
  
Yeah, whatever.  
  
He pulled her deeper into the cave and around a bend in the cave wall, and suddenly the cavern was flooded with light. He had a few torches lit and burning in a tiny little circular room, far enough from the cave entrance that no light showed from the outside. she said, taking a look around. There wasn't much in the room beyond a few crates (all of which looked as if they'd been stolen or found washed up on the beach) and a pile of coats that looked as if it served for a bed.  
  
he answered back, In the light, she could better make out his features--he was about her height, with curly black hair and dark brown eyes. Both his chin and his nose jutted out of his face at sharp angles, giving him a dark look that the perpetual smirk on his face did nothing to diminish.  
  
Armena cleared her throat and started to speak, but was cut off as root beer dripped off her hair and to the cave floor. She muttered curses under her breath as she paused, wringing out her hair. The young man watched her with a hint of amusement.  
  
Was that really necessary? Armena asked. She shook some root beer off her hands and sighed. I'm going to smell for days, and it'll dry and my hair will stick together and...  
  
The ocean's over that way if you want to jump in.  
  
She looked up, setting her own bottle of root beer down on the floor. Arms folded automatically across her chest, taking a defensive position. Oh, very funny.  
  
He shrugged. I'm serious.  
  
Right. Well--  
  
he began, cutting her off, I don't really want any visitors, okay? I don't know how you wound up on this stupid island, but you're going to have to find your own little cave. Either that or die and join the ghosts, whichever.  
  
I'm looking for someone who can fix my ship, that's all. She started running her fingers through her hair, trying to keep the strands from sticking together in one big clump. The other guy--Stan--said you could do it.  
  
Stan exaggerates a lot.  
  
Armena snorted. Given what he said about _you_, I'm starting to think no. He told me you'd be like this.  
  
Yeah? Well good for him. He sat down on one of the crates. Now go on, get out of here. I can't fix your ship.  
  
If I don't fix my ship, I can't leave, which means I'll be bugging you a lot more often.  
  
He grunted. Then I might just have to hit you with something a little stronger than root beer next time you decide to come snooping around. Then, shaking his head, he looked at her again. What're you doing here, anyway? You one of LeChuck's lackeys?  
  
She sighed, leaning against the wall. Hardly. I was _trying _to catch Guybrush Threepwood, but he--  
  
You're looking for Guybrush Threepwood? He sat forward, the look of interest on his face unmistakable. What for?  
  
Well, um-- Armena floundered for a moment, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to give. He--um--revenge. He killed my parents. Well, it was _almost_ the truth. Almost. Not really.  
  
He nodded slowly. Yeah...yeah, he killed my father, too. I guess we've got something in common. He held his hand out to her. Mad Johnathan the Incapable.  
  
It took her a minute to realize that that was his name. When she finally caught on, she was quick to shake his hand. Armena--but you knew that already.  
  
John pulled his hand away, grimacing as the root beer on her hand did its best to tag along for the ride. All right Armena, here's what I think. I think I like anybody who's out after Guybrush Threepwood-- he paused to spit on the ground--a lot more than I like some random nosey girl. So I'll fix your ship for you, but only on two conditions. One, that you take me with you when you leave--I assume you've got room for one more passenger--and two, you put a stop to the little ghost war that's going on here.  
  
The _what_? Armena blinked, confused.  
  
Ghost war--there's two kinds of ghosts hanging around Mêlée, see. One side are LeChuck's little minions, who've been trying to make this place a stronghold like all the other islands around. The other side's pirates who used to live here, or died when LeChuck attacked...they're just trying to take the island for their own. You can see a little conflict here, right? Well, it's driving me crazy, and the worst part of it is, LeChuck's ghosts're winning. And we need another of his strongholds like a kick to the head.  
  
And you want _me_ to stop it? Armena squeaked out. He nodded.  
  
Look, I may like you because you're actually going to try and get rid of Threepwood instead of just _talking_ about doing it, but that doesn't mean I trust you. You at least tip things against LeChuck's ghosts, and maybe I'll trust you.  
  
She shook her head. I don't think--  
  
You want a fixed ship or don't you? John stood up and stretched. Where's your ship wrecked? You go take care of politics here--I'll give you a hint, the would-be governor of the island's living in the old mansion down the other path--and I'll go take care of your ship. Deal? He held out his hand to her again, though when she hesitated, he sighed and pulled a coat out of the pile in the corner. It had once been black but had now faded to gray and half the buttons were missing. Here, take this, too. That cold and the root beer'll freeze you if you're not careful. I swear, I don't have lice or anything.  
  
Armena hesitated for another minute before she reached out and grabbed the coat--and he grabbed her hand. I'm glad we agree, he said, and turned to leave.  
  
  
  
He turned back to her, both thick eyebrows arched. Armena imagined she must look quite the unimpressive sight, standing there still drenched in root beer and holding a ratty old coat. My ship...it's wrecked straight east of Stan's. When you get there, tell Bill--he's my navigator, I guess--tell him I sent you. And make sure you get my name right.  
  
He nodded. Sure thing, Armina. He'd disappeared before she could figure out if he was making fun of her or not.  
  
You fight like a cow, she grumbled at his retreating figure. Then, pulling on the coat and shaking the dust from it, she picked up her root beer bottle and headed out of the cave. By the time she reached the entrance, John was long gone, hopefully to help repair her ship and not sabotage it. She picked her way back along the path and to the fork. This time, she took the other path.  
  
Unlike the way to John's cave, this path led upwards into thicker fog. A chill returned to the air, stronger than before, accompanied by the occasional gust of wind. Armena pulled her coat tight around her and silently--though begrudgingly--thanked John for giving it to her.   
  
Her path led her to a much wider, though overgrown trail that looked as if it had seen a lot of traffic in earlier times. Armena assumed it was one of the old paths from a time when Mêlée Island had been inhabited by the living, and took that to mean that she was headed in the right direction.  
  
Soon the undergrowth thinned out, and Armena found herself standing next to a sheer cliff face, with the ocean nearly twenty feet below. The fog thinned just enough for her to pick out the edge--and stay well enough away from it. To her relief, the path widened and opened up, winding past a ruined archway into a spacious front lawn--covered with what looked like overgrown lawn sculptures--and finally to an old mansion. It looked as if it had been standing there for many years and had seen better days. Most of the windows had been broken in and part of it looked to have been destroyed by fire. Only one light was on, in one of the uppermost windows. She couldn't see any activity inside the mansion, but there was someone--or some_thing_, more like--moving around by the front door. Whatever it was, it was very small, and seated on a pedestal. Armena tiptoed closer, still clutching the bottle of root beer underneath her coat.  
  
Halt! Hold it _right_ there! The voice, male, deep and gruff, stopped her right in her tracks. It took her a minute to realize it was coming from the _thing _on the pedestal. Or, to be more precise, the skull on the pedestal. It grinned--as best a skull could--when she stopped, clearly pleased with itself. Well, now, that's better.  
  
Armena inched forward to get a better look at the skull. it snapped, I said stay there! She arched one eyebrow at it and didn't stop until she was just out of jumping--or biting--distance. It sighed. Oh, fine. _Be_ that way.  
  
Armena looked at the skull again, then around at the mansion. You're the would-be governor, I'm guessing?  
  
Yes! Quake in fear, mortal--well, actually, no. It sighed. I'm just the doorman. And the bouncer. And sometimes my boss calls me a piranha poodle, but I'd _really _rather you didn't do that. Then it paused, seemed to straighten, and looked straight at her. I, foolish mortal, am Murray! The mighty demonic skull! _Bwahahahaha--_  
  
You don't look all that mighty.  
  
Murray stopped and glared at her. I'm mighty if I say I'm mighty. Now shut up.  
  
Maybe if you weren't up on that silly pedestal...  
  
Well I'm not all that impressive stuck on the ground, am I? Ghosts kept trying to kick me. He looked away from her, sulking. Now really, shut up, you've depressed me.  
  
Armena giggled. I actually wanted to see your boss, she added, resuming her normal composure. He's the...um, governor, right?  
  
Right. What do you want with him, anyway? One of LeChuck's guys was here just a week ago.  
  
I just wanted to...you know...talk to him. She chewed on her lower lip, thinking fast. I've--I've heard something about a little argument you've got going on here. Some ghosts that don't like LeChuck, that sort of thing.  
  
Yeah, they're the guys that like to use me as a soccer ball. What about   
  
Well, I happen to know a few things about voodoo; I was trained all my life to deal with spirits. I was thinking maybe I could help.  
  
And you just decided to show up out of the goodness of your heart, eh?  
  
Well--no, LeChuck sent me.  
  
_Riiiight_. And fleets of Scandinavian barbarians only cost a dime a dozen.  
  
She blinked.   
  
Just--just never mind. If a disembodied skull could have shrugged its nonexistent shoulders, Murray would have. The _eeeevil_ Murray doesn't just let anybody in. You have to--oh, great. He was peering around her at something on the path beyond. Armena turned around and squinted--she could just make out a small contingent of ghosts drifting up the path. Unlike the other ghosts she'd seen, though, these ones actually retained some idea of human form and walked, rather than floated. They also seemed to be doing their best not to jostle each other.  
  
Those would be the members of the other side, I'm guessing? Armena asked, pointing.  
  
Some of em, yeah. You might want to get out of the way. She ducked into an overgrown bush next to the front door just as Murray cleared his throat and bellowed out, Halt! Hold it _right _there!  
  
The ghosts stopped, but only appeared to be humoring Murray rather than actually complying with his demands. Murray preened anyway. We've come to talk to your boss! the lead ghost yelled out. He was an older man--age and past tragedies had hunched over his shoulders and made him appear shorter and weaker than Armena guessed he really was. Bright blue eyes--Armena was surprised to see that they'd retained their color even after death--shone out from underneath long, dusty hair and a thick beard.  
  
I've _told_ you, nobody gets past Murray, the mighty demonic skull! _Bwahahaha_!  
  
Armena and the ghost both rolled their eyes at the same time. the ghost said, give it up. You're not scaring anybody. Murray looked disappointed.  
  
Um, you said you knew how to deal with ghosts... he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, pulling Armena's attention away from the ghosts for a moment. She guessed where he was heading.  
  
She rolled up her coat sleeves and sat down on the ground, closing her eyes. She concentrated on a simple hex--it was supposed to scare ghosts away for a twenty-four hour period. _Don't want to accidentally destroy the wrong side, after all_, she thought. A short time later, after sketching some intricate designs into the dirt at her feet and muttering a few words under her breath, her eyes popped open again. The hex had had no effect; the ghosts were still standing there, calmly, as if nothing had happened.  
  
Grumbling under her breath, Armena checked the pattern she'd drawn, looking for an error. Not finding any, she tried the hex again for a second time--and it was no more effective than the first attempt. Frustrated, she tried a simple spell, to determine how one of the ghosts in the group had died. She was more than a little surprised at what she found.  
  
Um, Murray? He tilted towards her, as if listening. Um--they're not dead.  
  
What do you _mean_ they're not dead? I'm a disembodied talking skull here; I think I know dead when I see it.  
  
They're not dead, she said again. It's a disguise. She looked at the group again and let out a long, shaky breath. There wasn't supposed to be a single living soul on Mêlée. She'd been surprised enough to find even two, but if there was an entire _faction_, just pretending to be ghosts... _And if they're fighting against LeChuck..._she trailed off, suddenly lost deep in thought.  
  
She almost stood up then to let them know she was there, but something held her back. Armena asked slowly, does Guybrush Threepwood ever come ashore here?  
  
Murray sputtered. He'd better not, if he knows what's good for him. For none can withstand the wrath of Murray! _Bwahahaha_--  
  
Murray, who in tarnation are you talking to?  
  
Both Murray and Armena looked back at the group in front of them--their leader was giving Murray a curious look. Armena sighed and pulled herself to her feet. He was talking to me, she said, holding her hands up in surrender. Several swords were simultaneously unsheathed and pointed in her direction, though they wouldn't do much good from a distance. The would-be ghosts were reacting more out of shock than anything else, though.  
  
All right, their leader said, you get yourself over here, nice and slow. And bring evil skull boy with you--just in case he gets any ideas of running for his boss.  
  
Murray snorted and muttered threats of biting her if she so much as tried, but Armena picked him up anyway, gingerly holding him at arm's length. When she was within a few feet of the group, she pulled Murray back and held out her other hand. I'm Armena, she said calmly. Who are you?  
  
I know him, Murray grumbled.   
  
Horatio Torquemada Marley, the man interrupted, taking her hand after a moment of hesitation and shaking it. Armena wasn't surprised when a dusty white powder--it looked to be flour--remained stuck to her hand after they pulled apart, though the man's name had come as more of a shock to her. The _real _governor of Mêlée Island.  
  
And Plunder and Booty, another man added in.   
  
Marley smiled at him. Right. Now, we'd better be going, unless you want Governor' Mandrill finding out we're camped out on his front lawn.  
  
What about-- Armena snickered--evil skull boy here?  
  
I resent that, Murray grumbled, making a lunge for her fingers. She tossed him into the air just in time, and when she caught him he seemed to have gotten his temper under control.  
  
Give im to me...we've been meaning to take care of Murray for a _long_ time. She handed him over, ignoring Murray's protests. With a cursory glance around, Marley set Murray down on the ground, took a step backwards--and kicked him.  
  
As he flew through the air, Murray yelled, You'll regret this, mortal! No one escapes the wrath of Murray, the mighty-- His speech was cut off short by a thump that sounded remarkably like a skull smashing into a tree.  
  
Marley chuckled. If anybody asks, you did that, he said, pointing at Armena. Now come on.  
  
He kept a quick pace, and Armena had to hurry to keep up with him. As they walked she tried to talk to him. Um...so...you're not ghosts, she said to begin with, watching Marley as he strode easily through the forest.  
  
Neither are you.  
  
True, but I'm not covered in flour and _pretending _to be a ghost.  
  
Marley snickered. You try and walk around on this island your way, and I'll try it mine. Besides, it worked, didn't it? Until you showed up--how'd you figure it out, anyway? He squinted at her. My eyesight ain't what it used to be...how's yours?  
  
I didn't _see _it--I've been trained to deal with spirits. I figured you weren't ghosts when I couldn't get any hexes to work on you.  
  
Oh. I didn't think many folks'd be able to figure that kind of stuff out. There's not so many voodoo practitioners running around the Caribbean lately. Who trained you? He looked at her suspiciously, as if waiting for her to slip up and say she was working for LeChuck.  
  
The Voodoo Lady, Armena answered honestly, bringing the entire group to a screeching halt. she asked, looking around. What'd I say?  
  
The Voodoo Lady... Marley began, slowly, as in _The _Voodoo Lady?  
  
Is there more than one?  
  
I didn't know she took apprentices, one pirate in the back mumbled.  
  
Armena shrugged and fell back on the story she'd been told all her life. I guess she had to, in my case--my parents were killed when LeChuck took over the Caribbean. She knew them, I guess, so she took me in. I got lucky, really.  
  
Marley looked at her, shook his head, and started walking again. Yeah, and you're probably the only one, he muttered, kicking a stone out of the way.  
  
Armena looked at one of the other pirates as they started moving again. What's with him?  
  
The name Marley ringing any bells for you, kid? The pirate shook his head at her, distinctly unimpressed. You're looking at _the_ Marley.  
  
Armena looked at Marley's retreating back, her eyes going wide. You mean... she pointed at him. He's not related to _Elaine_--  
  
The very same. She was his granddaughter. I guess he was trying to sneak around LeChuck's forces at Booty Island when she...you know...  
  
Armena offered meekly.  
  
Yeah. Don't ask me how he wound up _here_, but, well, you know. Don't mention LeChuck around him too much. And if you know what's good for you, you'd better not be working for him.  
  
She snorted, picking up the pace. Don't worry. I'm not. Her thoughts, though, were reeling. She stared at Marley's back with a new sense of respect. _He could be my great-grandfather, _she thought, but quickly dismissed the notion. Because since she _wasn't _related to Threepwood...  
  
Marley led them all to the far side of the island, near to where Armena had originally gone ashore. The fog lessened here, though ghosts flitted about and watched them from behind trees as they passed. Armena guessed that most of them, like the group escorting her, were only pretending. How many of you are there?  
  
Marley looked back at her. Not enough, he said, leading the way into an encampment. Lopsided tents were packed in close together in a small clearing, with would-be ghosts--and the occasional real one--moving here and there. A few stared as the group passed. Marley walked to one of the tents and motioned Armena inside.  
  
You all go make sure Murray won't be rolling back to Mandrill anytime soon, he commanded, motioning them away. The group nodded as one and left. As for _you_... He shooed her into the tent. Sit down.  
  
Armena scooted past him into the tent. It was small to start with, but Marley hadn't put much furniture in it--she sat down in one of two rickety chairs. she began, but Marley cut her off.  
  
Murray said something about Guybrush Threepwood. What do you know about him? You're not here _chasing _him, are you? Because if you are...  
  
No, no, I'm just--I'm just looking for him. She sighed. I just want to ask him a question. Then, I promise, I'll leave him alone. I know he's your grandson-in-law and everything, but--  
  
Who told you that? Marley snapped. Then, calming down a bit, he added, All right, if we keep interrupting each other we'll be here all night. Now all I want to know from you is how you wound up hiding in the bushes outside the Governor's Mansion. I promise, I won't interrupt you this time.  
  
Armena smiled and launched into the story. She tried, at first, to trim out the idea that she and Marley might be related, but in the end it was unavoidable--there was no other decent excuse that wouldn't get her killed that she could give. He looked several times as if he wanted to interrupt her, but managed to stay true to his word. When she finally finished--with an explanation of how her ship had been run aground on Mêlée--Marley looked at her and sighed.  
  
I'd tell you if you're my great-granddaughter or not, but I don't know. He shook his head. I never got a chance to see her before...you know. I heard all the rumors--they're all ridiculous, by the way. There's no way Squinky could kill a fly, much less my granddaughter! Well, if it were an _undead _fly he might, but that's beside the point.  
  
But wasn't he a bloodthirsty pirate? One intent on controlling the entire Caribbean?  
  
Marley laughed until tears gathered in his eyes. Darling, that scrawny little kid could barely steer a ship! He had a few delusions of grandeur, sure, but not megalomania. And there's no way he ever went to Monkey Island with any intention other than trying to _stop _LeChuck and save my granddaughter. Control' LeChuck...heh, that's a good one. He couldn't even win an argument with his own wife! Not that anybody could win an argument with Elaine, but, well...  
  
Armena started nervously twirling a lock of hair around one finger. So...what happened, then? How'd they all--die?  
  
Don't know. If you ever find Guybrush, you can ask im. All I know is, one minute I'm trying to outrun LeChuck's armada, the next I'm washing up here on Mêlée with a bunch of other pirates, and they're all waving their arms and jumping up and down about how Elaine's a ghost and LeChuck's got her back on Monkey Island!   
  
So you've been stuck here...?  
  
Seventeen years.  
  
Armena sat back, frowning. What about the real ghosts, then?  
  
Marley's face fell into a pinched frown. They got here first, if you ask them. Ozzie Mandrill led an invasion by LeChuck's forces and drove all us living people out. He named himself governor and pranced all around the island like the sissy megalomaniac he is, until we showed up and decided to take Mêlée back.  
  
We tricked em into figuring we were all ghosts like them, just not so evil. It took em a while to figure out that we weren't really rooting for em...but there's still more of them than there is of us. And what's worse, Mandrill's probably got his hands on a certain Marley family heirloom I'd rather he didn't have. They were searching the mansion that night for a reason, after all... he trailed off, lost deep in thought.  
  
Armena cleared her throat. Marley looked up, startled back to the present. I don't see how an heirloom could be so import--  
  
It's a voodoo talisman that can raise the dead or put em to rest, and probably do a few other things, too, Marley snapped back. The first Marley who came to the Caribbean found it--it's been hidden in the mansion pretty much ever since it's been built. And there's a lot more dead folks on Mêlée than the ghosts, if you get my drift.  
  
Oh. _Oh_. She paused, biting her lower lip. Haven't you ever tried taking it back?  
  
Marley shook his head. We've tried. We even tried getting _Stan's_ help, not that that did any good. But Mandrill's quick, and it's gotten to where we can't even get into the mansion anymore. We were going to try to trick him into coming out into the open when you showed up.  
  
Armena shrugged. I could take you off the island, if you'd like...I've got a ship. Of course, it's probably still a little wrecked right now, but--  
  
He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. I'm not leaving until Mandrill's out of _my _chair. He sighed and looked over at her. Say...you'd probably know how to work that talisman, wouldn't you?  
  
Armena nodded. Probably. And even if I couldn't, the Voodoo Lady could.  
  
Marley grinned. Armena, I've just got an idea--we're going to get rid of Ozzie Mandrill--_and_ bring my granddaughter and grandson-in-law back to life.  
  
She was halfway to her feet but stopped, hesitating. Um, I only wanted to ask Threepwood a question, not fix whatever problems he got _himself _into.  
  
Marley shot her a dark look. He's the only one who can get rid of LeChuck--temporarily, at least. Unless _you'd_ like to give it a try.  
  
I'd rather not.  
  
Good. Now come on--we've git work to do. He paused, as if waiting for her to respond with another comment. When she didn't he smiled and motioned for her to follow him. You know, he added when she still seemed reluctant, you remind me a lot of Elaine when she was little--_she_ never listened to me, either.  
  
Armena blushed and meekly followed Marley out of the tent.  
  


***  


  
They gathered again in front of the Governor's Mansion, Armena, Marley and a handful of Marley's men, now stripped of their ghost costumes. They all looked like ordinary--if beleaguered--pirates, now. They caught Murray trying to roll back to the mansion, grumbling something about and eternal torment all the while, but Marley punted him back into the forest before he got too far.  
  
Foolish mortaaaaal--! Murray yelled as he flew through the air--again. Marley just grinned.  
  
He's a slow learner, that one.  
  
Lucky for us, another pirate added, grinning.  
  
Marley snapped back to the situation at hand. We'll all keep Mandrill's ghosts busy--_you_ go with that root beer of yours and take care of Mandrill.  
  
Armena made a small squeaking noise at the back of her throat. _Me_? But, um, wouldn't I be better for fending off the ghosts? You could go take care of Mandrill...  
  
He's an undead Australian land developer, not the boogey-man, Marley answered, shaking his head at her. You can handle him.  
  
She nodded, trying to seem more confident than she actually felt. Right. I'll handle the evil megalomaniac. Check. She paused then, looking around at the assembled group. A plan was starting to come to mind... Actually, why don't you all go and start distracting? I'll be right back--I've got to go find evil skull boy. And with a nod to Marley, Armena disappeared into the forest.  
  
It didn't take long to find Murray--she just followed the sound of his apparently trademark until she found him, rolling along through the forest back towards the mansion. With a wry grin, Armena stepped into his path--and dropped one foot firmly on his skull.  
  
Murray seemed a bit baffled by this predicament, but he resumed his usual persona quickly enough. Foolish mortal! Who dares block the way of _Murray_, the _eeeevil_ demonic skull?  
  
Armena bent down and picked him up, still grinning. Hey Murray, how'd you like to help me get rid of your boss?  
  
Oh. It's you. He rolled his eyes. Get rid of my boss? Are you kidding? He's the one who's paying me! How am I supposed to finance my _eeeevil _schemes to take over the world if I'm not _paid_?  
  
And you think a disembodied talking skull is really going to take over the world one day?  
  
Yes. _Bwahahahaha._  
  
She sighed. Well, can't argue with that logic. Come on. And, tucking him under one arm, she hurried back towards the mansion. Murray immediately protested the entire undertaking.  
  
I command that you put me down this instant! This is horribly undignified. And--and why do you smell like root beer?  
  
Don't ask. _Please._  
  


***  
  


By the time they reached it, the mansion was in total chaos. Pirates--and ghosts in pursuit of pirates--were running all over. Armena could catch glimpses of them, occasionally, as they ran past the mansion's windows. She couldn't help but grin. All right Murray--where's your boss hiding out?  
  
Murray snarled something about eternal torment in her general direction and then went silent. Armena sighed and held him out at arm's length, turning him so that he faced her.  
  
Listen, Murray--if you help me, I promise, I'll put in a good word for you with Governor Marley. Don't help me...and I'll make sure you're made the official Mêlée Island soccer ball.  
  
He seemed to ponder on her words for a minute, then answered, Oh...fine. First floor, past the stairs, second door to your right, there's a library. He likes to lurk in there.  
  
Armena smiled sweetly. I knew you'd help, Murray. Then, tucking him back under her arm again and holding the bottle of root beer in her other hand, she walked into the mansion.  
  
The scene inside was no better than what it appeared to be outside--in fact, if anything, it was worse. Displaced rugs, paintings and random trinkets dotted the floor, obviously tossed there by pirates intent on causing as much chaos as possible. It also became plainly obvious that no living person had been inside the mansion for years--a thick layer of dust had settled down over everything, but had now been stirred up. Armena started sneezing the minute she walked inside. She managed to fight her way past a couple of rampaging pirates--and a larger handful of ghosts--to the door Murray had described, though. It was shut, but not locked.  
  
Armena set Murray down on the floor and then opened the door just wide enough for him to roll through. Distract him, she whispered, keeping her eye on a ghost who was drifting her way. She didn't have to worry, though--a pirate appeared a second later and distracted the ghost by throwing a vase through his head. The ghost took off immediately in pursuit of the pirate.  
  
Murray shot her a dirty look. The _eeevil _Murray doesn't take orders from you. _Buwahahaha..._  
  
Soccer ball... she added in a soft, sing-song voice. Murray swallowed.  
  
All right, all right! Glaring at her one last time, he rolled into the room. Armena could have sworn she heard him grumble something along the lines of, As soon as I take care of _Threepwood_, she's next on my list of people to bite, but dismissed it.   
  
She pulled out the bottle of root beer and slipped into the room the moment Murray cleared his throat and announced, in a louder-than-normal voice, There's pirates in the foyer.  
  
A ghost floating on the far side of the room answered in a thick Australian accent, I know. You're fired. He was facing the room's only window and didn't see Armena sneak in. She was struck immediately by how frail and haggard the ghost appeared, even in death. He leaned against an old walking cane and the reflection in the window caught perfectly the snarl on his wizened old face.  
  
Well, _I _actually didn't let them in, Murray finally replied. If he'd had a chest to puff up with imagined pride, he would have, and Armena had to work hard to keep from snickering at the thought.  
  
You're fired anyway, the ghost shot back. Murray grumbled something unrepeatable, and Armena took this as her opportunity.  
  
she said, clearing her throat. Ozzie Mandrill whirled around, his snarl deepening.  
  
Who're you? And what're you doing in _my _mansion?  
  
Armena smiled and shook up the root beer bottle. Well actually, I'm selling these fine leather jackets...  
  


***  
  


Half an hour later, Marley was rooting through the library, pulling books off of shelves and paintings off of walls, grumbling to himself. Murray perched on the top shelf of one of the bookcases--Armena still had no idea how he'd gotten up there--next to an old copy of _Hamlet_. She had tried to point out the irony of it to him earlier, but had been rebuked by a lecture on the current cost of fleets of Scandinavian barbarians.  
  
Finally, Marley sighed and threw one last book down on the floor. That's it; it's not here. I don't know where Ozzie might've hid it.  
  
Are you sure you're looking in the right spot?  
  
Marley gave her a look. It's _my _mansion--of course I know where it should be! It's supposed to be in this room--somewhere. I hid it here myself before I left for Australia!  
  
Armena sighed. Which was...how many years ago?  
  
Murray supplied helpfully from up above. Now if you both don't mind, I've got a lot of _eeevil_ scheming to do, so--  
  
Oh shut up! Marley shouted at the same time Armena threw in a You fight like a cow!  
  
Marley grinned at her. I think you just might be related to my grandson-in-law after all. He ignored Armena's habitual wince at the idea and continued, Now if we could just find that doo-dad...  
  
Armena scratched her head. We _could_ tell the other pirates to search the rest of the mansion.  
  
They're ransacking the place already. I think they'd've found it by now.  
  
Okay, well what if LeChuck's already got it?  
  
Then we're in trouble, he said. On the off-chance he might find it, Marley tried tugging a few more books off the shelves. They were added to the growing pile on the floor. Armena leaned against a nearly-empty bookshelf to watch him, yawning.  
  
The bookshelf she was leaning against also happened to be the same one Murray was perched on--and, looking down at her head, he didn't waste an opportunity at revenge. With a quiet little cackle to himself, he rolled over behind the copy of _Hamlet_, made sure it was perfectly in position...and gave it a sharp push.  
  
Ow! What the--_Murray_!  
  
  
  
Still rubbing her head, Armena whirled around and glared up at the skull. He seemed to be quite pleased with himself. It's soccer ball time for you, she growled, reaching up to yank him off the shelf--and as she turned, a glint of crystal caught her eye. She stopped and looked down at the book.  
  
The book was actually hollow--the middle of all the pages had been cut out, leaving a small, unnatural nest for someone to hide things in. And resting in the center was a lopsided, murky little crystal. It had been half-plated with silver and was affixed to a small chain. Marley and Armena both looked at it with expressions of disbelief.  
  
Oh yeah..._now _I remember! I hid it in there because I figured nobody'd open the book. Armena arched her eyebrows at him. He only shrugged. Well, how many pirates do _you _know who read Shakespeare?  
  


***  


  
They returned to the foyer to find the other pirates just leaving it. One of them had a painting tucked under his arm. Marley yelled, distracting the pirate. He turned, guiltily, and looked back and forth between Marley and the painting. Put it back...  
  
The pirate swallowed and quickly hurried off to replace the painting where he'd found it. Armena watched him leave out of the corner of her eye--she was spinning the crystal around in circles, watching as it caught the murky morning light and held it. Marley cleared his throat and she jumped, folding the crystal back into her palm.  
  
They've all gone to take care of the rest of the ghosts on the island, Marley said, now that he had her full attention. You shouldn't have any problem making it back to your ship.  
  
Armena nodded slowly. Right...but will you be all right here?  
  
Assuming evil skull boy doesn't drop any books on anybody's head, yeah, fine. It's about time I had an island to govern again. He grinned and clapped her on the shoulder hard enough to send her reeling. Now go on--if your ship's ready. We'll be fine, and _you've _got a resurrection to perform. Two of   
  
She swallowed. That's assuming I can get anywhere near Threepwood's ship. Look what happened the _last _time I tried that.  
  
Yeah, well, if you had LeChuck chasing after you all the time you'd be like that too. You'll figure it out.  
  
Armena snorted. Maybe I'll just get a big sign that says Idiot Convention Here.' That would do it. The look Marley gave her showed just how unimpressed he was with the idea, though several pirates passing by laughed.  
  
That might work, Marley countered, but I think it'd be a little too true. That drew even more laughter from one pirate who was sneaking down the stairs and out the door--the painting still in hand, though a little better concealed this time. I said put it back! Marley snapped.  
  
Aw, but--  
  
Put it back, he grumbled, or my would-be great-granddaughter here'll tell you you fight like a cow.  
  
Ooh, I'm shakin', I'm shakin', the pirate grumbled back, though he turned around to put the painting back in its proper place--again.  
  
Armena sighed, ignoring the exchange. Well, I guess I'll be leaving then...are you sure you don't need this thing? She held the talisman up again, but Marley only shook his head and pushed it away.  
  
We'll be fine. You need it more than we do, anyway.  
  
All right then. Um...bye. Good luck. She stuffed the talisman into her pocket and turned to go but stopped, suddenly remembering something. Um--Governor Marley?  
  
He arched both his eyebrows at her.   
  
What...what color were Elaine's eyes?  
  
What kind of question is that? he asked, suddenly on the defensive.   
  
Armena shrugged. Just a question.  
  
He sighed, and his expression seemed to turn nostalgic and sad. Dark blue, he said finally. Kind of like yours. A lot like yours, actually...  
  
She nodded and turned away quickly. Right--right, thank you.  
  
You're welcome. Hey, if you really are my great-granddaughter, drop me a note or something, would you?  
  
She laughed nervously. Yeah...yeah, sure. Good luck. And without another word and without waiting for reply, she left the mansion.  
  


***  


  
As she walked back across the island, the fog seemed to lift, and a warm Caribbean breeze started to blow in. Stan's neon sign now burned more brightly than ever. As the fog and gloom lifted, though, it was easier to see the damage done to the island over the years--much of the forest Armena walked through was still charred black by fire. If there'd ever been a town here, it would take a long time to rebuild it again.  
  
The forest cleared away and she found the _Iago _drifting just off-shore, with Bill making a few last minute repairs. She waded into the water, headed for the ship. Bill caught sight of her and waved, grinning. I was beginning to think you'd never come back! He jumped down from where he'd been working on the mast to help her on board. What took you so long? And-- he paused, sniffing-- and why do you smell like root beer?  
  
Armena shook her head. I'll tell you sometime, when I've got a few hours to spare. She scrambled up on deck and looked around. You work fast.  
  
Yeah, well, your incapable friend helped a _little_...but I still don't like him.   
  
Armena looked around--John was nowhere in sight, and she thought for a minute that maybe he'd decided to stay on Mêlée after all. Where is he?  
  
Bill rolled his eyes. Below deck, getting into a fight with Santiago and Castaneda. He figured out how to break up one of their chess games, by the way.  
  
How's that? she asked, arching both eyebrows.  
  
Take away the pieces. He snorted, but his amusement quickly faded. Where'd you ever find _him_? He's not staying, is he?  
  
He's staying. We made an agreement--he fixed the ship, he goes with the ship.  
  
Bill sighed. Your negotiating skills need work, Mena.  
  
She shook her head at him again. It was either him or the salesman with a ten gallon hat on a one quart head. Now are we ready to go?  
  
I suppose--I'll get our friend Incapable' to finish the repairs.  
  
His name's John, you know.  
  
Actually, his name's Mad Johnathan the Incapable.' As if that's some sort of _real _name. He folded his arms across his chest and avoided making direct eye contact with her. By the way, he thinks your name's Armina.  
  
Armena rubbed her temples and let out a long breath. I'll deal with him...it's only until we find Threepwood, anyway. Then we can drop him off at the nearest port.  
  
Which should be soon, Bill added hopefully, casting a dark glance at the stairs leading down below deck.  
  
she said, 


	3. Act Three: The Right Hand of Midas

Act Three: The Right Hand of Midas  
  


  
Commodore LeChuck cracked his knuckles together and stared out at the open sea. One of his ships had brought back news that a trade ship had been seen lurking around Mêlée Island--very much outside of the trade routes he'd personally and painstakingly outlined. LeChuck had jumped at the chance to go take care of the problem--he had more than enough of them he was happy to leave behind.  
  
The man he'd sent to get the divorce papers was currently sitting in Lucre Island's jail, the priest hadn't arrived and had sent no word as to why he was delayed, and Elaine had been more frustrating than usual. She'd escaped twice from a supposedly inescapable prison, and one time she'd gotten halfway to Plunder before he caught up with her.  
  
He cracked his knuckles together again and sighed. I'll be havin' ta check those hexes on the walls..._again_. He was beginning to wonder if asking the Voodoo Lady to do these sorts of things was such a smart idea after all.  
  
A skeleton scurried up behind him. Er, Commodore LeChuck, sir?  
  
  
  
We've--er, we've spotted the trade ship, sir. She's been circling the area around Mêlée. I don't think she's spotted us.  
  
Ye'd better hope she hasn't. Get the cannons ready...and don't bother with a warnin' shot. He grinned. This is goin' ta be _fun_.  
  


***  


  
Armena found John leaning against the mainmast, trying to fix a hole in one of the sails. He wasn't having much luck; he kept poking himself with the sewing needle. he muttered, jamming a much-abused finger in his mouth just as she approached.  
  
Maybe you should let me do that...? Armena offered, sitting down beside him.  
  
he paused, pulling his finger out of his mouth before he tried again. I can handle it. I sailed all the way to Mêlée by myself, you know, and I had more than my fair share of torn sails.  
  
She snorted. Sailed from where, the next island over?  
  
A--another island. Far away. Anyway, I can handle it. He closed up and didn't seem to want to say anything more. Armena sighed.  
  
All right, if you say so.  
  
I do. He picked up the needle and made another attempt at fixing the sail. So what d'you want?  
  
She arched both eyebrows. What's that supposed to mean?  
  
He arched his thick eyebrows right back, mocking her. You never talk to me unless you want something. So what is it? Bill's already got me doing this-- he waved the sail around, earning himself another poke in the finger with the needle-- so whatever it is, it'd better be easy. This'll probably take me the rest of the day.  
  
It'd take you less than an hour if you weren't so lazy, Armena snapped. Here, give me that. Before he could protest, she yanked the entire thing away from him and quickly went to work. Out of the corner of her eye she caught John watching her with an impressed look on his face, but when she tried making eye contact with him he looked away quickly.  
  
she began, trying to concentrate on the sewing and the conversation at the same time, I wanted to talk to you.  
  
Yeah, you said something like that. What about?  
  
she bit her lower lip, suddenly seeming very interested in the sail's stitching. I might've gotten a few, um, complaints. About you. Not really complaints exactly, but Bill might've said a few times--  
  
He sighed. Look, the second we take care of Threepwood, I'll be off your ship. I know your sorry excuse for a navigator would rather throw me overboard, but I think you can keep him under control, can't you? He gestured out to the open sea vaguely. Of course, if we're stuck sailing around in _circles_--  
  
She nearly dropped a stitch. That was _my _idea. You agreed to it.  
  
Because I figured we'd bump into Threepwood right away!  
  
Armena finally dropped the needle altogether and turned her attention fully to him, glowering darkly. I warned you this might take a while. He's seen us before; he knows we're after him, so he'll be avoiding us. You didn't have to come along anyway, but you invited yourself--  
  
You agreed!  
  
--_you invited yourself_, and all for what? Revenge! It can't be that much of a grudge if you haven't gotten off your lazy--  
  
Maybe I _had_! You don't know a thing about me! _Merde_, girl, you're an idiot. I can't believe you even made it as far as Mêlée without killing yourself. Besides, you're looking for revenge too, aren't you?  
  
She shrank backwards. I never said that--  
  
Yes you did! That's the reason I agreed to come along on this little trip in the first place. Yeah, I want revenge, but so do you. You're no better than I am! And if you don't get that through your thick little head, I may as well throw _you _overboard. We'd be better off! John snatched the sail away from her, found the needle and picked it up again, stabbing at the sail in a sort of half-hearted attempt at mending it. Now go--go push somebody around or something. Take a long walk off a short gangplank. Whatever--just get out of my hair.  
  
She looked at the tangled mess of hair on his head and snorted. You call _that_ hair?  
  
He reached over and pushed her roughly away. And you're as repulsive as a monkey in a negligée. Now scram.  
  
She was just about to retort when a call came down from the crow's nest--Castaneda was on duty, though under protest. Black sails on the horizon! Armena and John both froze, waiting. A few seconds later Castaneda added, She looks like a flagship!  
  
Cursing, Armena jumped to her feet. Get that sail fixed. _Now_. She shouted for Bill to try and outrun them, though they all knew that would do little good: LeChuck's flagships were the fastest in the Caribbean.  
  
Armena dragged Santiago up from below deck and set him to work prepping the cannons; she helped him whenever she could. Bill caught her as she ran by and pressed a sword into her hand. I think you'll need this, he said, then let her go. She nodded.  
  
LeChuck's ship started gaining on them fast. Castaneda kept calling out the distance between the two ships, and it kept getting smaller and smaller. Soon the tattered black sails came sharply into focus, as did the crew beneath them. Castaneda started cursing.  
  
What is it? Armena had just returned from below deck with bottles of root beer, just in case they wound up battling any ghosts. She peered up the mainmast at the crow's nest.  
  
_He's _with them!  
  
  
  
  
  
Armena started swearing herself as she ran to hand the root beer to the rest of the crew. She reported the news to Bill, who grimaced. This isn't going to be pretty. He paused, then added, Mena, we're close enough to Mêlée right now...if things get bad, you could jump overboard and swim--  
  
She cut him off with a shake of her head. There'd be no point. He has no reason to even suspect I might be a Threepwood, anyway.  
  
That wasn't what I meant. Just in general, if--  
  
I'd still rather stay, she said firmly. But thanks for the thought anyway.  
  
He grinned. You're welcome. After a moment's pause his face fell into a more businesslike demeanor. Now go on, Santiago looks like he might need some help with those cannons. And tell John to get back to work if he knows what's good for him. Armena nodded and took off.  
  
A cannonball crashed into the water nearby, rocking the ship and sending up sprays of water. Bill bit down on his lower lip and forced himself to concentrate on steering the ship.  
  
Several more cannonballs landed in the water all around them, though only a couple succeeded in doing any real damage. Still, it was enough to slow them down. Armena ordered Bill to turn the ship around so they could stand a chance at returning fire. In the brief moment when the _Iago_'s side was facing the flagship, LeChuck didn't waste his opportunity, and neither did Armena--the resulting crossfire did more than a little damage, to both ships. In the end, though, the _Iago _hadn't fared nearly as well as LeChuck's ship had; several gaping holes near the bottom of the ship were taking on water much too quickly for Armena's liking. She turned to John, who was busy reloading the cannons.  
  
You know that sail you were fixing?  
  
He arched an eyebrow at her.   
  
Tear off a piece and run it up the mainmast.  
  
But that'll-- he stopped, frowning as he realized what she meant. _Merde_. You're going to surrender?  
  
She nodded. It might be our only shot at surviving this...and besides, I think I have an idea.  
  
If it's anything like your last--  
  
Shut up and do what I asked for once!  
  
He offered her a mock salute. Whatever you say, _m'amie_. But just this once.  
  
As John hurried to run up the makeshift white flag, Bill caught Armena by the arm. He pulled her in closer, speaking in barely a whisper and casting a wary eye in John's direction. Mena, you can't do this. If he recognizes you--  
  
Why would he? Besides-- she pulled the crystalline talisman and its chain from underneath her tunic--I've got _this_. Marley said it could put the dead to rest...I think it's worth a try, at least.  
  
He looked at the talisman, finally nodding. All right...it's worth a try. He squeezed her arm once for good measure. Good luck.  


  
***  


  
Commodore LeChuck eyed the white flag now flapping lazily in the light breeze with the air of a cat deprived of its kill. He growled several curses under his breath before he finally turned to a skeleton standing nearby. Board he commanded, sighing. Rough em up a bit and take whatever cargo they're haulin'. I'll be boardin' meself to speak to their captain--they've got no respect for the rest of us, surrenderin' like that...takes all the fun out of everythin'.  
  
He grumbled his way through the next few minutes as the crew made preparations to board the other ship. Her crew showed no sign of resisting, which only irked LeChuck even more.  
  
D'aaaargh--blast be these _traders_; ye can't get a good fight out o'any of   
  


***  
  


When LeChuck's men boarded the ship, the crew up on deck surrendered immediately, dropping weapons, root beer bottles, and anything else they had on hand. One of the skeletons did a quick count and, seeing that there were only five people up on deck, ordered a group to search the rest of the ship.  
  
That's all of us, growled the only woman amongst them.  
  
A skeleton grabbed her roughly by the arm and shook her. Now which one of ye's captain?  
  
I am, she answered, at the same time a scruffy-looking man with a half-grown beard said the same thing. The skeletons looked at both of them with confused expressions.  
  
The woman rolled her eyes.   
  
he shot back, mimicking her annoyed expression. A third man did the same, though his annoyance seemed genuine.  
  
Could you two stop flirting for at least ten seconds? Both of them blushed and went quiet. He smiled.   
  
LeChuck finally saw fit to come aboard, making sure he cut an impressive figure as he stepped across the gap between the two ships. The entrance would have been better if he hadn't nearly tripped, but he seemed to recover himself well enough, shooting dark looks at anyone who dared to even so much as _think _of snickering.  
  
All right, he said, cracking his knuckles together--everyone flinched at the sound. Which one of ye's the captain o'this little crate, eh?  
  
Armena looked once at Bill, who shrugged and turned red again. That would be me. She straightened even as LeChuck fixed his gaze on her, doing her best to make herself look more confident than she felt. She couldn't stand to make eye contact with him, though--something in his ominous stare frightened her more than she liked to admit.  
  
LeChuck strode casually over to her, hovering in such a way that she had to lean back just to see his face. he said, what makes a little trade ship like yers get so lost?  
  
We--um--we're not lost, she answered, mentally berating herself for stuttering. I didn't know we were lost. Bill, did you know we were lost?  
  
Uh...no. But then again I can't read a map, so--  
  
Shut up, both of ye!  
  
Armena flinched as a sprinkling of dust rained down on her, tickling her nose and stinging her eyes. She wanted to use the talisman now, but with a skeleton holding one arm and LeChuck nearly standing on top of her, she didn't dare. And, though she hated to admit it, something like fear held her back, as well. She'd heard stories--they all had--but she hadn't believed LeChuck could be quite so frightening. _He wasn't when the lawyers were making a fool out of him_, she thought ruefully. But the stone demon in front of her now was frightening indeed--she suddenly understood why only one man had ever managed to defeat LeChuck.  
  
I go ta all the trouble ta outline the routes for trade ships like ye, and-- he paused, looking around. Where's the rest of their crew? He turned to the closest skeleton and decked him, knocking his skull and a better part of his upper body overboard. Ye dunderheaded _morons_, how can ye let half o'their bloody crew go free?  
  
The skeleton holding onto Armena's arm cleared his throat. She ducked instinctively, not wanting to get in the way of one of LeChuck's temper tantrums. Well, um...  
  
The look LeChuck gave the skeleton made them both shrink back.  
  
This is all their crew I swear! he squeaked out in a rush. Armena nodded quickly to confirm what he'd said.  
  
It's true, she said. It's just the five of us.  
  
LeChuck cocked his head to one side, disbelieving. Then he laughed. Armena shrank back another step. What kind o'trade ship goes around with just five people on it, eh? Ye're either daft--or ye ain't no trade ship at all. He turned to a couple of skeletons standing around nearby. Search the ship again. Bring me anythin' that looks suspicious. He swung his attention back around to Armena. As for _ye_, ye and I need to be havin' a little _chat_. He grinned, motioning for the skeleton to bring her as he headed for the captain's cabin.  
  
The skeleton pushed her along and she stumbled, and she took the opportunity to yank the talisman and its chain from around her neck. She slipped it into her palm and closed her hand around it, glaring at LeChuck's back.  
  
They were just about to go into the cabin, with LeChuck barking a few last minute orders to his crew, when a cannonball struck his ship--and went right through it, passing through the _Iago_, too. All heads swung around to gape as it disappeared beneath the ocean's surface, including LeChuck.  
  
LeChuck smashed his fist into the side of the cabin and, growling, turned around to glare at the ghost ship coming in fast on their starboard side. Several more cannonballs went flying through the air all around them. They didn't do any damage, but they were more than a little distracting. Blast be ye to the underworld, why can't I get rid o'ye? If he knew Armena and everyone else could hear his muttering, he didn't notice or care.  
  
a voice echoed. Armena recognized it as John's and quickly motioned for him to stay quiet. He shot her a dark look and grumbled something under his breath. Another cannonball flew through the air, sliding through the deck just inches away from where Armena was standing. She shuddered and flinched away, then flinched in the other direction as LeChuck's hand swung out, nearly clipping her upside the head.  
  
D'aaargh...let's be gettin' out o'here. Threepwood won't let us have any peace until we leave _them_ alone. He motioned to Armena and her crew and shook his head. If Armena hadn't known better, she would have said he looked disappointed. They ain't worth puttin' up with him, anyway.  
  
Er...Commodore LeChuck, sir? A skeleton fidgeted nervously near the mainmast. What do you want us to do with them, sir?  
  
LeChuck thought about it for a minute, then said, Let em go...they'll drown anyway with all the holes we blew in their ship. He grinned once, faintly. Then, as the rest of his crew hurried to get back to LeChuck's flagship--save those who were still restraining Armena and her crew--LeChuck leaned down so he could look Armena square in the eye.  
  
Ye'd best be hopin' we don't meet again, lass. Nobody crosses Commodore LeChuck twice an' lives ta tell about it. She matched his gaze as best she could, trying not to break eye contact. For a moment she could've sworn she saw a flicker of recognition in his dark eyes, but when she blinked and focused on him again, it was gone.  
  
By then all of LeChuck's crew had gone back over to his ship and he was quick to follow. He spared Armena only one last, parting glance, which she pointedly ignored. When he was safely back on his ship, though, he whispered something to one of the skeletons manning the cannons.  
  
Let this be a warnin' to ye--if ye're not endin' up as shark bait, be sure ta tell everyone--_especially _those pirates who might have an idea of gettin' rid o'me--that there ain't no pirate who can even think o'beatin' _me_!  
  
As if to prove how wrong he was, a ghostly cannonball sailed right through LeChuck's outstretched hand. He growled a curse under his breath, then yelled,   
  
One of LeChuck's cannons fired straight into the _Iago_'s hull, adding to the damage and knocking Armena and everyone else off their feet. Laughing, LeChuck sailed away, even as Threepwood's ship drew in closer and pulled up next to the _Iago_.  
  
  
  
Armena slowly sat up, only dimly aware of the voice calling her. She shook her head and made sure she wasn't bleeding anywhere before she tried standing up.  
  
_Hey_--do you have any longboats?  
  
She finally managed to look around, only to find herself staring across the deck at a man who had to be Guybrush Threepwood. He floated about an inch off of his own ship's deck, watching her with concern. She blinked at him.  
  
He looked much as he had the first time she'd seen him, through the spyglass--except that his face now had more of a concerned expression to it, coupled with a genuinely friendly tone in both his voice and eyes. If it weren't for the way he floated around and the bloody mark on his forehead, Armena would have sworn he could've been one of the pirates she'd grown up with on Lucre. She was surprised, too, by how young he looked--he couldn't have been much older than she was when he'd died.  
  
Bill pulled himself to his feet beside her, rubbing his temples and groaning. That seemed to snap her back to reality. Um--I don't--I don't think so, she finally managed. Threepwood sighed.  
  
Well that's no good. Can you fix the ship, do you think?  
  
Hold on-- Armena got up and walked over to the side, peering over the rail at the gap between the two ships. She could feel Threepwood's eyes on her constantly. Taking one look at the gaping hole in the ship's hull, though, she could only shake her head.  
  
Doesn't look like it.  
  
We could swim, Bill offered, shrugging. He was busy pulling Santiago and Castaneda to their feet and retrieving their weapons.  
  
There's a lot of sharks around here anyway, Threepwood said. I'd take you all to the nearest port but, well... he shrugged, indicating his ghostly form. Behind him, the ghost of a dark-skinned woman snorted and grumbled something under her breath.  
  
Carla, don't even think about it.  
  
Yessir, Fripweed.  
  
He clenched his teeth together in something like a grimace and looked at Armena again. He squinted, tilting his head to one side and leaning forward a bit. You look kind of familiar... Armena's breath caught in her throat. Have we met?  
  
Um--no, no, we haven't.  
  
He nodded slowly. Okay...but you know, I could _swear_... he trailed off. The _Iago _creaked and started to list uneasily to one side. Armena frowned and hurried over to the railing so she was nearly face-to-face with Threepwood. Up close, the resemblance between them was even harder to ignore, so she avoided making direct eye contact.  
  
she began, I know this is going to sound a little strange, but I have an idea that might save us both. She opened her palm, breathing a small sigh of relief when she saw that the talisman was still there. In the midday sunlight, it seemed to shine clearly and reflect the light more readily, rather than absorbing it. Threepwood watched it for a moment, seemingly transfixed.  
  
Looks like a glorified knickknack. What is it?  
  
She smiled faintly. It's a voodoo talisman of unknown powers. A man by the name of Horatio Torquemada Marley gave it to me.  
  
That pulled Threepwood up sharp. He drifted forward a bit, studying both her and the talisman more closely. You met him? I thought--I thought he was dead! What happened to him; is he all right? Where--  
  
She held up her other hand to stop him. I'll explain later when the ship's not sinking. Let me just put it this way: I think this thing has the potential to--um, well, resurrect you. If I could do _that_, and do the same to your ship, would you be willing to take my crew to the nearest port?  
  
He stared at the talisman for a while, seeming to consider her proposal. Armena could guess that he'd accept, though--a gleam of hope had entered his eyes, breathing new life into them. Finally, he nodded.   
  
she said. I'll start with your ship; no offense, but I'd rather get off _this_ ship before it sinks. She lifted the talisman further into the light and stared at it. _I really hope this works..._ She had just closed her eyes to try and figure out how to work the thing when someone tackled her from behind--or tried to--missed, and went flying overboard.   
  
Armena opened one eye just as Bill yelled,   
  
Threepwood peered over the side of his ship, watching John flounder and sputter in the water. Is he yours?  
  
Armena sighed through gritted teeth. Not anymore. Bill, somebody, fish him out and make sure he doesn't try that again. She waited until Bill had pulled him back up on deck before she even thought about trying to use the talisman again. John was glaring at her angrily, wiping seawater from his eyes.  
  
Mena, what the _hell _are you doing? he hissed, shooting a dark look at Threepwood, too. You said you were going to _kill _him, not _help _him, so stop with the voodoo gibberish and get out the root beer! He's a ghost, it's not like he can stop you.  
  
Threepwood was peering at them anxiously, straining to hear what John was saying. Armena smiled thinly at him and turned her attention back to John. Let me put this in terms you can understand: Ship sinking. Need help. That-- she pointed to the ghost ship--is help. But only if we can bring it back to life. And in case I didn't mention, _this _ship is _sinking_!  
  
John muttered something under his breath in French. All right, he said at last, fine. Resurrect the stupid ship. He shook off Bill's weak grip on him and walked over to the mainmast, where he sat, sulking. Armena turned back to Threepwood and smiled again.  
  
Sorry about that...he's just got a temper. Let me try that again. _Without _getting interrupted. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the talisman again, trying to find a way to make it work. After a long moment--with the ship creaking below her constantly--she opened her eyes again. Both Threepwood and his ship still floated in the water, ghostly as ever. She sighed.  
  
Maybe if you tried getting the thing closer to the thing you're trying to, um, resurrect, Bill suggested.  
  
Or maybe it really is just a glorified knickknack, Threepwood added, shrugging. There was something like disappointment in his eyes, though, and for a moment Armena felt a stab of pity for him. _It must've been hard_, she thought, but cut herself off right there.  
  
she said, straightening, I'll try that. Thanks, Bill. She took a deep breath and leaned against the side rail. Then, closing her eyes, she reached out and barely skimmed the surface of the ghost ship's railing with the talisman.  
  
The ship flickered, wavered in and out of existence entirely for a few seconds, and then fully materialized, the talisman still stuck in the side railing. Threepwood looked at the suddenly solid deck below him and nodded.   
  
Armena opened one eye. I'd say so, she said, letting out a long breath. She started tugging on the talisman's chain, trying to free it. That's one--oof--powerful--okay somebody, a little help here--knickknack.  
  
Lucky for us...leave it Mena, we'll get it later. Right now, though, we've got to get off this ship. It's sinking, if you remember...? Bill, shooting a warning glance at John, gently took Armena by the arm and ushered her over to Threepwood's ship. You've got everything, right?  
  
She shook her head. There's still my things in the captain's cabin.  
  
he turned around. Santiago and or Castaneda, one of you go into the captain's cabin and bring Mena's stuff. Don't steal any of it.  
  
Like they could, Armena snorted, climbing over the siderail and tumbling onto the deck. She landed right at Threepwood's feet and they made eye contact again, briefly.  
  
You know, I could swear I know you from somewhere. It's--you know, you look kind of like--  
  
She jumped to her feet. Okay, everybody on board? Good--I'll just get that talisman--Bill, could you help me here?  
  
He smiled faintly, shaking his head at her. You're such a weakling, Mena.  
  
Get used to it. Now I need your _help_. Over _here_. She shot him a significant look and he, finally understanding, scuttled over as fast as he could.  
  
So what is it? he whispered under his breath, pretending to examine the talisman for any damage before they pulled it out of the railing. What's the verdict on Threepwood? He looks like you, you know. You _could _be related.  
  
Armena shook her head. It's not him I'm worried about. It's John.  
  
He thinks you're still going to kill Threepwood?  
  
And I don't intend to, she said, nodding. I mean, look at him. She gestured subtly at Threepwood, at the same time trying to look as if she was trying to chip away some of the railing with her fingernail. He doesn't look at all like the rumors say.  
  
That wouldn't be hard.  
  
True. But--listen, I just need you to take John, find something on this ship that'll pass for a brig, and lock him in it. I'll let him out later if he promises to behave.  
  
Bill snorted and tugged the talisman free. Easier said than done, but okay. He handed her the talisman. Then, picking at a splinter in his thumb, he walked over to John. Okay John, you and I are going to go check out the rest of this here ship.  
  
Don't break anything! snapped the woman Threepwood had called Carla.  
  
John rolled his eyes at both of them. Yeah, right, he said, though it was impossible to tell who he was actually responding to. Bill assumed he was talking to him, and wasn't much amused.  
  
Lose the attitude, Incapable, and come on. He pushed him towards the stairs that led below deck, sending him tumbling forward. Bill nearly grinned.  
  
Quite the...um...crew, Threepwood said, looking at Armena. And I thought I had all the bad luck.  
  
Hey! I'll have you know that I've been perfectly sober these past...however long it's been, Fripweed!  
  
Threepwood rolled his eyes. That's only because you can't drink the grog.  
  
We have grog on this crate?  
  
No, but that's not really the point--  
  
Do you want me to resurrect you or not? Armena waved the talisman in Threepwood's face, one hand on her hip.  
  
He returned his attention back to her and nodded. My crew first, or they'll lynch me the second they get the chance. And we might want to get away from _your _ship before it goes down...  
  
She peered back at the _Iago_, now nearly half-underwater and sinking fast. She motioned for Santiago and Castaneda to at least make an attempt at steering the ship away. The Voodoo Lady's going to have a fit when she finds out what she probably owes that captain now, she muttered, moving over to Carla, the nearest crewmember. Just hold still, she said. I don't want to wind up with this thing stuck in your skin or anything.  
  
The woman nodded distractedly. Yeah, right. Fripweed, are you _sure _we don't have any grog on board?  
  
I'm _sure_, Carla.  
  
She opened her mouth to shoot back a less-than-complimentary reply but was stopped short when she fell the few inches of space between her feet and the deck and landed, falling over backwards. Armena stood beside her, the talisman still swinging freely in one hand.  
  
Carla sat up, started to rub her back and complain, and suddenly stopped, staring at her hands. Her dark skin seemed a startling contrast to her earlier pale, ghostly color. It took her a moment to figure out that everyone else on deck was staring at her, too. Threepwood had a distinctly amused expression on his face.   
  
What're you all staring at? she snapped, pushing herself to her feet. She stretched experimentally and tried taking a few, uneasy steps. She paced back and forth, then stopped, shrugging. It worked, she said, then let out a whoop. It _worked_! Holy jumping mother of God, Fripweed, I might not have to kill you for turning us all into ghosts after all! She ran down below deck--to make sure there really wasn't any grog on board, Armena assumed--after nearly running into a few objects she would've normally just floated through, yelling all the while.  
  
A short, nervous-looking little ghost of a man floated up to Armena. She held out the talisman again, but he made sure that his feet were as close to the deck as he could get them, first. When he solidified again, there was only a slight bump as his feet hit the deck, and he seemed to regain his bearings quickly enough. His dark brown eyes flickered nervously, as if taking the entire scene in again with a new perspective. he said quietly, and slunk away, in the same direction Carla had run off in. The fourth member of Threepwood's crew, another short man (though this time not so little), followed the others' example the moment he was standing on his own two feet again.  
  
Armena turned last to Threepwood--he remained half-floating, half-standing, several feet away and made no move to approach her. Finally, clutching the talisman close in one hand, she approached him. She did her best to avoid direct eye contact. she said, And, closing her eyes again, she swung the talisman out and concentrated--concentrated as hard as she could--on returning Threepwood back to life, by whatever means necessary, even though it ran against some of her better doubts.  
  
Only the quiet thump of his body hitting the deck told her she'd finally done it. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, sprawled face-down in front of her. _Well, now you've done it_, she thought, placing the talisman back around her neck. _You've resurrected Guybrush Threepwood. The pirates are just going to _love _this._  
  
Realizing that he didn't seem inclined to stand up under his own power anytime soon--in fact, he seemed completely unconscious--Armena knelt down and pulled him gently to his feet. He wasn't all that heavy; he seemed to be only skin and bones as it was, and it seemed almost as if his time spent as a ghost had only added to that impression. Armena sneezed--he was covered with dust. The bloody mark she'd seen on his forehead started to bleed again, too, and his face and lower arms were covered with tiny bruises and cuts.  
  
Looks like you got in on the wrong side of a fight, she said, struggling to support his weight with her own. She half-carried, half-dragged him to the captain's cabin and dropped him on the bed, then made a quick search of the room for bandages. Finding none, she went up on deck, hoping to find someone to help her--but the only people on deck were Santiago and Castaneda, and they were concentrating so hard on navigating that she didn't think it would be wise to disturb them.  
  
It's a _ship_, she muttered under her breath. They have to be somewhere. She spared Threepwood one last glance and then hurried out of the cabin, aiming for the stairs that led below deck. On her way down, she nearly collided with Bill, who was sprinting back up the stairs.  
  
Whoops--sorry about that. He helped steady her on her feet, squinting at her in the dim light. How is he?  
  
Unconscious. You didn't find any bandages down there, did you?  
  
Bill arched one eyebrow. _Bandages_? Mena, what'd you do?  
  
I didn't do it! I swear, he was like that when I resurrected him.  
  
Well...it makes sense, I guess, if he was supposed to be buried under a ton of rock... He sighed. All right, you can't tie a good bandage to save your life; I'll take care of him. Gently elbowing his way past her, he started up the stairs again. Armena caught him by the arm.  
  
I'll come with you.  
  
He nodded faintly, leading the way up on deck and to the captain's cabin. He'd barely stepped inside the door, though, when he stopped, staring at Threepwood. he said, quietly, letting out a long breath.  
  
She shuffled over to the desk and opened a drawer, pretending to be fascinated with its contents.   
  
He's you. Or you're him. Or...something.  
  
She didn't look up. I hadn't noticed. In truth, though, she had--it had been impossible to ignore the fact that they shared similar, twig-like frames, the slightly fly-away blond hair, and the weak chin that gave the impression that they were both younger than they actually were. Still, she did her best to seem calm and noncommittal about the entire affair, pulling up a chair and sitting down in it as if nothing were the matter.  
  
Bill began rooting through drawers until he found a roll of bandages. he said gently, casting a worried glance her way, I don't think you can deny it anymore. He unrolled the bandages and tore one off, dabbing the blood away from the wound on Threepwood's head. Besides, it's not like he's the murderous, back-stabbing pirate everyone's made him out to be. I mean, _look _at him, Mena--he looks more like a flooring inspector.  
  
Armena snorted. Maybe that's how he got people to trust him--before he betrayed them.  
  
Now you're just being ridiculous. He lifted Threepwood's head and started wrapping the bandage around it.  
  
She slid open another desk drawer, lazily flicking around the dust bunnies inside. I know, Bill. She sighed and looked over at him, but he was still busy tying the bandage tight. It's just...how would _you _feel if someone just told you that your parents might still be alive, and oh, by the way, your father's the most despised man in the entire Caribbean next to LeChuck?  
  
I'd be happy just to hear my parents were alive.  
  
She bit her lower lip. Oh. I forgot. Sorry.  
  
Don't worry about it...LeChuck's killed a lot of people. It's not like we're the only ones who lost somebody. He double-checked his work, then stood up, rolling up the rest of the bandages. He should be fine, I think. Whatever hit him didn't hit that hard. There's still the little cuts and all, but those don't look too bad. I'll just...whenever he comes around, I think you should be here. I'll take care of the ship for a while.  
  
Armena smiled faintly.   
  
Not a problem. He started for the door but, on his way out, stopped and patted her shoulder awkwardly. Good luck, Mena. And, by the way...  
  
  
  
I've got John down in what I guess passes for a brig on this crate. But he's not happy, and I think he's caught on that you maybe...stretched the truth a little. If we can spare somebody, I'll set a guard on him. He's bad news, Mena--stay away from him.  
  
Her eyes flickered over to stare at some point in the wall. He deserves an explanation.  
  
He deserves what he's got, and maybe not even that. Just leave him to me and the rest of the crew, all right?  
  
She sighed. The sharp, impatient tone in his voice told her that he wouldn't leave until she agreed, anyway. Fine, fine.  
  
He looked over at Threepwood and patted her shoulder again. Don't keep him guessing who you are, Mena. Then he slipped out on deck, closing the door behind him.  


  
***  


  
Guybrush Threepwood didn't want to wake up. He had no idea where he was, or why--it didn't feel like an avalanche of rocks, the last thing he really remembered. He didn't feel dead, either, though he couldn't really guess at what that felt like. He just felt...numb. There was a dull ache in his head, too, like he'd spent the night drinking, only sharper.  
  
He opened one eye, just for an experimental look around. Some ever-hopeful part of him piped up with the idea that, maybe, Elaine was there somewhere. And then he remembered--she was dead, a ghost, and so was he--supposedly. He groaned and clenched his eyes shut. He _really _didn't want to wake up.  
  
So you're awake.  
  
He opened one eye again. A young woman sat in a chair near the door, her feet propped up on the desk. She was flipping lazily through a journal, not really watching him. All he could make out of her appearance was her long blonde hair, which was currently hiding most of her face.  
  
He sighed, slowly reaching up to rub his temple--but he stopped, touching against a bandage wrapped tight around his head. he said after a minute, yeah, I guess so.  
  
That's good--you've been out for an hour or so. She paused, then added, I was starting to get a little worried. The tone of voice she took then reminded him so much of Elaine that he winced.  
  
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, resting one arm against the wall for support. He winced again, but this time it was from all the bruises. he said at last, it's okay. I'll be fine.  
  
She turned her head to fully acknowledge him, and then he remembered a little more--she was the captain of the trade ship they'd rescued. She was the young woman who had seemed so eerily familiar, and more than a bit anti-social. He scratched the bandage on his head--she was the one who'd resurrected him, too. He tried smiling at her. Thanks, by the way.  
  
Oh...well...it was nothing. She blushed, looking away. We needed a ship anyway, and it was only fair to resurrect you along with your ship...my crew's sort of taken over the ship, by the way, if you don't mind.  
  
It's fine, he said, waving a hand, though his pride protested sharply. Just so long as by taken over' you don't mean, you know, _taken over_.'  
  
Don't worry. My crew couldn't take over a toy boat. She laughed nervously, and he couldn't help but laugh with her--he had just a little too much experience with crews like that.  
  
he cleared his throat; he was still getting used to little ordinary, human things like that--who are you, anyway?  
  
For some reason, she hesitated. She closed the journal she had been reading and put it back in the desk, then dropped her feet back down to the floor, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with him. Guybrush tilted his head at her, slowly, wondering what exactly was going on.  


  
***  


  
Armena cleared her throat. Bill had said not to keep him guessing, but...she shook her head and tried to make eye contact. My name's Armena, she said finally, not bothering with a last name.  
  
Threepwood fell back onto the bed, rubbing his eyes. It seemed to her as if he'd suddenly withdrawn from her, and her breath caught in her throat again. That's funny, he said, his voice cracking. I had a daughter...Elaine and I were going to name her Armena...but I don't know, it's been so long, and Elaine's-- he broke off, staring at the wall. She must be dead, he finished numbly.  
  
Against her better judgment, Armena stood up and walked over to the bed, quietly sitting down beside him. If he noticed her, he gave no sign--his eyes were shut tight. I didn't realize it was such a popular name.  
  
I didn't, either.  
  
She bit her lower lip and reached her hand out--just barely brushing the back of his hand. I'm sorry. I could leave, if you'd like me to.  
  
No, it's all right... He opened his eyes again, sighing. It's just-- and he stopped, staring. She had finally, though inadvertently, made direct eye contact, and he had finally caught sight of her dark blue eyes.  
  
Armena could tell by the way he was staring that he'd seen something he recognized. She looked away, but he caught her arm, forcing her to turn back and look at him. He pushed himself back up into a sitting position, ignoring the throbbing in his head. You have Elaine's eyes, he said quietly.  
  
She bit her lower lip, nodding slowly. I thought maybe I might be, you know--  
  
But she didn't get a chance to say anything more, because he'd pulled her into a hug with more strength in it than she thought he had. It took her a moment, but she embraced him, too. He smelled of dust and--strangely--of lilacs. She couldn't decide whether to giggle or sneeze over it.  
  
He pulled back after a long moment, holding her at arm's length, searching her face for familiar features. He must have found more than a few, she imagined, as she had when she'd first seen him--but his gaze kept coming back to her eyes.  
  
How old are you?  
  
She smiled faintly.   
  
Has it been that long? It hasn't... He paused, looking around. I guess I've been dead longer than I thought. Armena nodded. His attention focused on her again. How'd you-- his voice seemed caught in his throat. I thought LeChuck...I knew he had Elaine, but...I thought for sure he'd killed you. His bright blue eyes glimmered with what looked to be tears. If I'd known...  
  
You couldn't have, she interrupted. The Voodoo Lady's good at hiding people--even from themselves.  
  
He arched one eyebrow slowly. The _Voodoo Lady_? Wow, that's...weird. Elaine must have been desperate... He looked away again, trying to compose himself, though he failed. Armena politely stared at her feet. _This can't be the same man who single-handedly let LeChuck loose on the Caribbean...who _started _those rumors?_  
  
A quiet cough broke her from her thoughts. What happened to her?  
  
She looked back up.   
  
Guybrush bit his lower lip. I know she's...you know...I just don't know how she...you know.  
  
She raised both eyebrows. _Oh boy._ Um, that's a funny story, actually. I don't really know. See, there's a few...I guess you could call them _rumors_ about the whole LeChuck taking over the Caribbean' thing...  
  


***  


  
A few hours later, Armena leaned her head against her father's shoulder, listening to the tail end of his story. I just--LeChuck left, and I guess the ceiling must've caved in...I don't really remember. So I screwed everything up, basically.  
  
Well, not really... she said, trying to shift the blame away from him. It was hard, though--especially when some of the rumors she'd heard all her life had just been confirmed. The Voodoo Lady could've told you to expect consequences from using that scroll. So maybe it's more her fault.  
  
Guybrush snorted. She _did _say there'd be consequences,' she just didn't tell me they'd show up as LeChuck. And I can't blame her for anything--she kept you safe.  
  
Armena blushed, though she could sense a in his voice. she said, prompting him.  
  
But it's just--you're _seventeen_!  
  
I could lie and say I'm eighteen, if you want. Or sixteen.  
  
He didn't seem to appreciate her attempt at a joke. I'm twenty-two. Do you have _any _idea how weird this is? The last time I saw you--well, you weren't even _you_ yet. You were busy making Elaine think she was fat.  
  
She giggled despite herself. When I see her, I'll apologize. But it's not like we can do anything about it. The age thing, I mean. Ghosts don't age--time just keeps on going without them. I'm sorry, though. She looked up at him--they looked more like brother and sister than father and daughter, and she cleared her throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.  
  
It could be worse, I guess.  
  
  
  
He grinned, though it was obviously a vain attempt at keeping the mood light. I could be _dead _dead.  
  
Good point. She pushed herself up so that she was facing him, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of her way. Um, listen, I don't know about you, but--  
  
It's a lot to take in, he finished for her. Yeah. I know.  
  
It seemed to take a moment for her to acknowledge what he'd said and respond. She nodded, a little belatedly. And it's been a few hours...I should probably go and see if my crew hasn't managed to blow a hole in your ship or something.  
  
There's a little thing called sleep, too, you know, he said, yawning. I don't know what the Voodoo Lady might've taught you, but _I_ say that no daughter of mine is going to turn into an insomniac workaholic like her mother.  
  
Armena folded her arms across her chest and raised one eyebrow, looking unimpressed. You need sleep more than I do.  
  
How's that? I'm the one who's been kinda-sorta _dead _for seventeen years. Even as he said it, though, exhaustion and something like grief began to creep into his eyes. Armena snorted, getting up off the bed and gently pushing his head towards the pillow.  
  
You're also the one with the bandage on your head, she countered. You need rest.  
  
Okay, can't argue with that. As she made to leave, though, he caught her hand and squeezed it. She knelt down beside him, this time unafraid to make eye contact. It's just...I've already missed so much...  
  
Then what's a few hours going to matter? She squeezed his hand back reassuringly. Sleep on it. We'll talk in the morning.  
  
He nodded and yawned. Yeah. You still owe me your life story.  
  
It's boring, she answered, shaking her head. You wouldn't be interested. _Besides, you still owe me a lot more...Dad.  
  
_He couldn't seem to find a retort to her last words, instead closing his eyes and trying to sleep. Armena leaned against the bed, still breathing in the smell of lilacs and dust, and tried to get a little sleep herself.  
  


***  


  
She woke up a few hours later when someone tripped over her and landed, with an ungraceful thud and a series of French curses, partly on her lap and partly on the floor. By the time she managed to orient herself, scramble around in the dark for a candle and match, and get the candle properly lit, the mysterious someone had likewise gotten to his feet and pounced on her father.  
  
The candle flickered and flared to life, illuminating a scene that was almost amusing, in its own way. Guybrush and John were in the middle of some sort of fight (which John appeared to be winning), grappling with each other and throwing punches blindly. John appeared to be trying to grab Guybrush by the throat. The sudden flicker of light had, however, caused them to freeze in place. Armena chuckled at the sight of them. If you two wanted a private room, all you had to do was ask, she said, shaking her head. They both shot her nearly identical dark, looks, which only made her chuckle all the more.  
  
He's trying to kill me! Guybrush finally squeaked out, fixing his less-than-mighty glare on John.  
  
Armena arched one eyebrow.   
  
I'm mad and incapable, what do you expect?   
  
Hey...you look kind of familiar...  
  
Her other eyebrow shot up. Last I heard, Dad, I didn't have a twin brother.  
  
Bill burst into the cabin just then, a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, nearly knocking Armena off her feet. John's esca--whoops, sorry Mena.  
  
She straightened and stepped away from him--and his sword, which was dangerously close to her ear. I kind of noticed, Bill.  
  
I figured he'd show up here first, he said, trying to retain some dignity. He sheathed his sword and walked over to John, grabbing him by the shoulder. Come on--this time I'll chain you to the bloody hull, if I have to.  
  
Guybrush quickly slipped out from under John's grip and stood up, dusting himself off and doing his best to restore his wounded pride. Well, it's not like I didn't have things perfectly under control before, but I'll let you take over from here.  
  
He was trying to strangle you, Dad.  
  
Well...I still had the upper hand! he sputtered, rubbing his throat. Everyone else in the room shot him unconvinced looks. ...Really. I did.  
  
John, breaking free of Bill's already weak grip, took an opportunity and made another lunge at Guybrush. Bill lunged after him, Guybrush yelped and dived out of the way, and Armena punched John right in his prominent nose. He hit the deck with a groan and an unimpressive thunk.  
  
Uh...thanks for that, Mena. Bill grabbed John and hauled him to his feet, blushing faintly.  
  
Glad to see you've still got things under control, she answered sarcastically. Need any help dragging him down to the brig?  
  
The blush crept all the way up to his ears. It wouldn't hurt... He looked over at Guybrush, who was still straightening his tattered collar and doing his best to look as if he hadn't nearly been throttled. Sorry about that...um...sir.  
  
Armena groaned inwardly. She could practically see her father's ego expanding at _that_ remark. He was just the type to let things like that go to his head, she could tell... I'll probably be a while--I want to talk to John once he wakes up. Are you going to be all right here?  
  
Fine. Unless there's anybody else on your crew who wants to murder me.  
  
I don't think so. She grinned weakly. I'll be back. She took John's other arm and threw it over her shoulders. She and Bill together dragged him out of the captain's cabin, across the deck (garnering a few stares from various crew members), and down below deck to what passed for the brig. The door was wide open, the lock obviously picked, and Carla was sitting in a chair beside the door, snoring.  
  
Armena snorted. I guess Dad really wasn't kidding about her.  
  
Looks like I'll have to find somebody else to guard him. You'd think she'd be fine when she found out there wasn't any grog on board, but I guess not.  
  
Mmm-hmm. Maybe you'd better pull guard duty yourself. They dropped John in the middle of the shoebox-like room, right in a puddle of water--only somewhat on purpose. D'you think we should tie him up?  
  
If you're going to try talking to him, yes.  
  
She sighed. He's not going to kill me, Bill.  
  
He just tried to kill your father, Mena--I told you, he's dangerous. You shouldn't have even let him on the ship in the first place. He shook his head, ignoring the dark look she shot at him. But now that he's here...well...we've got to do _something _with him. And I'd rather tie him up.  
  
Armena prodded John with her foot. He groaned and muttered something under his breath in French. He's waking up anyway. Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can stand outside the door. I'll scream if he tries anything.  
  
I saw some rope in the cargo hold, I could--  
  
_Bill_! I can handle this.  
  
Right. I'll let you talk to him. He shrunk away from her, scurrying for the door. I'll be right outside.  
  
She nodded absently, waiting until he'd shut the door before she bent down and prodded John sharply in the chest. Wake up, you.  
  
Only if you shut up. He opened one eye and glared at her. Then, with surprising speed, he pushed himself upright. She jumped back, afraid he was going to try and attack her. But he settled against the ship's hull, rubbing his nose ruefully. So who are you really, girl?  
  
Hey--I thought I'm supposed to be asking--  
  
Why'd you resurrect him? I thought you wanted to _kill _him! And the next thing I know, he's back from the dead, and the girl who told me she was going to kill him did the resurrecting!  
  
Armena's fists clenched so tightly she thought her palms might bleed. He's my _father_.  
  
He snorted, looking away from her. Oh. So you're a Threepwood. Funny--I thought I might actually like you.  
  
She scooted away until her back was against the opposite bulkhead. What've you got against Threepwoods?  
  
Well, it's not so much all of em as it is _that one_. And I told you. He killed my father.  
  
No he didn't--he told me what really happened. He didn't kill anyone.  
  
He shot her a murderous stare. Well, he's lying.  
  
Does he even look like he could kill someone? Armena answered, throwing her arms up in the air. I don't think he has the strength, much less the will. _You_, on the other hand...  
  
In one quick movement, John leapt across the room and had one hand on her collarbone, pinning her to the wall, the other on her mouth. He killed my father, he hissed through gritted teeth. Go back and ask him if he remembers a kid named Eligo. Ask him if he remembers what he did to that kid's father. And without another word, he let go of her and slipped back to the other side of the room like nothing had happened. Armena rubbed her throat, shooting daggers at him the entire time.  
  
Eligo? How many names do you _have_?  
  
Just ask him the stupid question. He found a speck of dirt on the floor and flicked it away disinterestedly. You could've told me you were his daughter, by the way.  
  
I didn't know until now. Would you have helped me fix my ship if I had told you?  
  
He smirked. I would've killed you.  
  
Which is probably why I didn't mention it. She stood up, composed herself as best she could, and stalked to the door. She knocked on it once and Bill, peering through the window to make sure it was her, opened the door and quickly pulled her out of the brig.  
  
Tie him up, she growled, slamming the door shut. _Chain_ him up, even--to a cannonball, and then drop him overboard.  
  
He grimaced. I guess it didn't go well.  
  
Let's just say I can see where he gets the Mad' part of his name from. He's got a thing against Threepwoods--all I can get out of him is that he thinks Guy--my father killed his father.  
  
Bill shrugged. He's probably mixing rumors or something. There's a lot of pirates who'd like a chance to kill your father, I'd bet. He paused, then grinned weakly. At least you know Guybrush is your father now, right?  
  
  
  
And he's nothing like the rumors say, so you're not related to a cold-blooded killer anymore. You've just got one locked in your brig.  
  
Armena shook her head at him. Bill, quit trying to be cute.  
  
Yeah. Well. Sorry. He coughed. We should drop John off at the nearest port...which is probably Mêlée, I guess, though I don't think your great-grandfather would be too happy to have him. Lucre?  
  
She shrugged, giving the lock on the door an experimental tug to make sure it held. I'll be honest, Bill--I don't know what to do. If we put in at any free port--_if _we're not blown out of the water for looking like one of LeChuck's ships first--there'll be a lynch mob after my father the second they find out he's on board. And I'd bet anything that once LeChuck catches wind that Guybrush isn't a ghost anymore...  
  
He'll try to kill him. Again, Bill finished. He scratched his chin, thinking. Mena--what about your mother?  
  
What about her?  
  
She's supposed to be dead too, isn't she? Armena nodded slowly, not quite seeing what he was getting at. He grinned and elaborated for her. The rumors say that Guybrush killed her. So if you resurrect her, she can tell everyone that's not true, and Guybrush's name gets cleared. Because believe me, from what I've heard, when Elaine Marley-Threepwood says jump,' the rest of the Caribbean says how high?'  
  
One problem with that, Bill. LeChuck has Elaine. On Monkey Island. Which I don't even know how to get _to_, much less _onto_. It's supposed to be his best stronghold. She shook her head, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the bulkhead.  
  
Bill's grin widened. Maybe you don't know how, Mena, but we've got the man who's been to Monkey Island and back four times onboard.  
  
Armena couldn't help but grin herself. Changed my mind, Bill--you're brilliant.  
  
Thanks. By the way, how're you...how're you handling all this? You know, the whole father suddenly not-dead' thing and everything?  
  
She snorted ruefully. Do you have a couple of hours?  
  
He looked around, particularly at the door to the brig, and then shrugged. Yeah, actually, I do.  
  
It was a rhetorical question. She shook her head, patting him once on the shoulder. G'night, Bill.  
  
He almost looked disappointed.   
  


***  


  
The Voodoo Lady summoned Inspector Canard to her shop early the next morning, not long after dawn. He appeared promptly, looking awake and not in the least bit bleary-eyed. I assume this is about Armena--  
  
She raised her hand to stop him. Commodore LeChuck has sent for me. Apparently my hexes and wards don't hold up like they used to.  
  
Inspector Canard smiled and looked at the floor. Should I arrange for an escort, then?  
  
He arched his graying eyebrows, surprised, but she continued. Send a messenger, instead. Tell Commodore LeChuck that I am unfortunately unable to come to his aid...however, I will be sending my apprentice, who is quite capable of handling such matters. Tell him also that he should treat her with the same respect he shows me.  
  
Inspector Canard sputtered for a few seconds. You're going to send _Armena_--with all due respects, she's nowhere near capable of destroying LeChuck, and even if she _was_, she's too busy joyriding around the Caribbean!  
  
The Voodoo Lady smiled in a manner that was at best patronizing. Show a little faith, Inspector. She has help.  
  
If you mean Bill Duncan, he said with a snort, he's more likely to get her killed than anything else. And those other two would-be pirates she took along with her won't be of much use, either.  
  
I didn't mean them. She waved her hand in dismissal. Please send the messenger, Inspector--and do tell him to hurry. It wouldn't do for my apprentice to appear at the commodore's doorstep before my message did.  
  
He paused, collecting himself, before tipping his hat lightly to her. Have it your way, then. I'll send the messenger immediately. Good day.  
  
Good day, Inspector.


	4. Act Four: The Left Hand of Midas

Act Four: The Left Hand of Midas  
  


Armena woke up late that morning, uncomfortable after having spent a majority of the night on the floor. It took her a moment to get her bearings--to remember where she was, what was going on, and everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, from resurrecting the most hated pirate in the Caribbean to his nearly getting throttled by a known psychopath. She groaned quietly and rubbed her eyes. I've got to be nuts, she said, sitting up.  
  
Guybrush was still asleep with the sheets tangled so tightly around him it looked as if, when he did finally wake up, he'd never be able to properly untangle them and get out of bed. One bare foot stuck out by the end of the bed, slowly sinking towards the floor. She smiled faintly--he'd wake up the second that foot hit the cold floor, no doubt. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, Armena got up and tiptoed out the door.  
  
The deck was all but empty--the only person in sight was the other man on Guybrush's crew, Estevan. He was doing his best to steer the ship (though since he wasn't much taller than the wheel, it was a bit difficult) and consult a map at the same time. Armena closed the door to the captain's cabin and headed for him, clearing her throat as she approached so as not to startle him.  
  
Where are we? she asked, squinting out to sea. The early morning sunlight reflected off the waves and made it difficult to see anything. A cursory glance, however, told her that they weren't anywhere near any of the islands--usually one or more of them could always be spotted on the horizon.  
  
Estevan made a minor adjustment in their course and then answered, Headed out for open waters, Cap'n. I figured it'd be best--not so many of LeChuck's ships out here.  
  
She nodded slowly. Just so long as you can get us _back_.  
  
If we don't let Cap'n Threepwood navigate, we should be fine.  
  
I'll remember that, Armena said, chuckling. So...where is everyone, anyway? Still sleeping?  
  
Estevan shrugged. Last I heard, Carla'd gotten chewed out by that Bill guy for falling asleep, so she's probably off sulking somewhere...she'll get over it in a while. Bill's guardin' the _other _guy you brought onboard-- and at this he cast her a sideways glance--and Santiago and Castaneda are looking for a new chess set.  
  
Oh. Right. Well...thanks for steering the ship, then.  
  
Of course. He nodded to her and dove back into his map; the conversation appeared to be at an abrupt end. Armena sighed and was about to go below deck in search of either Bill or breakfast when the door to the captain's cabin burst open and Guybrush staggered out, wide-eyed, a sheet still wrapped around his ankle. He didn't have to go far for it to trip him up, causing him to land flat on his face.  
  
Armena turned back to Estevan, who had momentarily poked his head up over the map to see what all the commotion was about. Does he do...things like that a lot?  
  
Estevan nodded. Yep. All the time. He ducked back behind the map again.  
  
She shook her head, slowly making her way down towards Guybrush, who was trying to pick himself up with as much dignity as possible. _Right_, she thought. _My father's a former ghost, barely older than I am, and a klutz. Maybe I should've just stayed on Lucre..._  
  
Guybrush finally made it to his feet, yanking the offending sheet from his ankle and tossing it back into the captain's cabin. He grinned sheepishly at Armena's approach. Uh...morning! I was just, um--just making sure I hadn't dreamed everything that happened yesterday or something. It's been known to happen before. ...I think. He paused, scratching his head. He accidentally touched the bandage and winced.  
  
Armena tried to cut through all the nonsense to some sort of point. How's your head?  
  
Better, actually. The pain's subsided to a dull roar, at least.  
  
Good. Listen, I wanted--  
  
He cut her off. Armena...I think we need to talk. It took him a long time to get the words out of his mouth, and he winced as he said them.   
  
She sighed. All right. But is this going to take long? I've got--   
  
I want to go to Monkey Island. He paused, as if he didn't believe what he'd just said. Armena looked around. Estevan was watching them out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying to eavesdrop. So Armena gently took her father by the shoulder and pulled him into the captain's cabin, where they wouldn't be overheard.  
  
she answered slowly, closing the door, we'll go. I don't know how to get there, personally, and it's supposed to be some sort of fortress, but what the hey--we'll go. You'll have to navigate, or...whatever it is you have to do.  
  
Guybrush shook his head. No, I mean _I _want to go to Monkey Island. First, we're going to go back to Lucre Island to drop off Eligo--Inspector Canard's still there, right? He'll keep him out of our hair for a while. And I'm going to leave you with the Voodoo Lady until this all blows over.  
  
The resulting silence lasted nearly a minute. Then what Guybrush said finally seemed to sink in, because Armena managed to sputter out a   
  
I've handled LeChuck on my own before--  
  
Yeah, before he got half a dozen strongholds and an army of pirates!  
  
Guybrush continued, unfazed. --and I don't really want you anywhere near him.  
  
I handled him before, she shot back, bristling.  
  
He would've killed you, Mena. He had the upper hand--that's not   
  
She shook her head and started pacing, carefully stepping over the sheets on the floor. You need me, she finally said. _I'm _the one who's actually been alive these past seventeen years. I know what's going on around here, where LeChuck's strongholds are, and nobody wants to lynch _me_.  
  
Guybrush winced. Okay, good point. But we have to go to Lucre Island _anyway_, because we're going to drop off Eligo. I don't want him trying to kill anybody again--much less me.  
  
She started to shoot back an angry reply but stopped. You know his real name?  
  
He nodded slowly. I met him when he was a lot younger...and a lot less homicidal. I thought I recognized him earlier, but it took me a while to figure it out. He sighed. He looks a lot like his father.  
  
He said you killed his father, Armena answered, folding her arms across her chest.  
  
Does the name LaGrande' ring any bells, Mena? he asked quietly.  
  
She shrugged. LaGrande? As in Largo LaGrande? Why, what's-- she stopped, tilting her head to one side. You don't mean...  
  
You can ask him if you want to, but I'm sure. It explains a lot. Where'd you _find _him, anyway? The last I saw he was just a kid on this...really stuck-up island filled with lunatics.  
  
She shrugged again, chewing on her lower lip. Guybrush was right, it _did _explain a lot, but... He was on Mêlée when I got there; don't ask me why. She paused and finally stopped pacing. But--doesn't that mean that he's right? I mean, you _did _kill Largo, didn't you?  
  
No, LeChuck killed Largo, but that's not the point. It's just--he's dangerous, Mena. And so's LeChuck, probably even more now, which is why I don't want you anywhere near him. He sighed, his face falling. I don't want to lose you, Mena. If LeChuck finds out who you are, he'll kill you.  
  
I've heard _that _before, Armena shot back darkly.  
  
He's already got the entire Caribbean...and Elaine. I don't want to throw you into that mess. He'll kill you, I know he will.  
  
She took a deep breath and let it out again. Just like he wants to kill you?  
  
That's different.  
  
How? How can that _possibly _be different? He wants to kill you, he wants to kill me--I don't see the difference.  
  
Guybrush shook his head stubbornly. Just trust me, Mena. I can handle him.  
  
With _what_? The talisman?  
  
He shrugged. Maybe. If it can bring people back from the dead...  
  
You don't even know how it works, Armena answered, gritting her teeth. And if you're going to treat me like this, don't expect me to tell you, either.  
  
He snorted; she thought she finally caught something like anger in his eyes. Well, it can't be that hard, if--  
  
Armena knew immediately where he was going and cut him off before he got there. If what? If _I _can use it?  
  
He seemed to shrink back a step. That's not what I--  
  
_You_ haven't been trained by the Voodoo Lady for seventeen years, she shot back. You wouldn't have a clue. And if you're trying to say that you think I'm stupid--I think I know who I got it from. She glared at him and made a rather impressive show of stalking past him, out the door, and likewise slamming the door shut as hard as she could. Guybrush winced at the sound.  
  
After a moment, the door opened again and Armena reappeared. And by the way? You fight like a cow! She smirked and slammed the door again. Guybrush almost chuckled--almost.  


  
***  


  
Half an hour later, after he was sure Armena wasn't storming around nearby, Guybrush went to find a set of maps and a member of the crew who _hadn't _been undead for seventeen years. Santiago and Castaneda were too wrapped up in a new chess game to notice him (even after repeated attempts at distraction), so he settled for pulling Bill Duncan away from guard duty.  
  
Bill unrolled a map of the Tri-Island area and began pointing at a series of islands in rapid succession. Here--these're all controlled by LeChuck. The only two he doesn't have strongholds on are Spittle and Jambalaya. And if I were you I'd avoid the entire area around Pinchpenny. He made a wide circle on the map with his index finger. It's as much a fortress as Monkey Island. Half his fleets against Plunder and Scabb have been launched from there.  
  
Guybrush looked at the map and frowned. We'd have to go around half the Caribbean to get back to Lucre.  
  
Yeah, but-- Bill paused, looking up at him. Why'd you want to go back to Lucre? If you're looking for help from the free pirates, you'd be better off looking on Plunder...they've got a lot of pirates with some pretty nasty grudges living there, from what I've heard.  
  
Guybrush shook his head. No--we've got to drop Eligo and my daughter off on Lucre. Unless we went back to _Mêlée_...that'd keep us well away from the Voodoo Lady, and--  
  
Sorry, what? Bill took a step back from the table, arching both eyebrows. Why're we taking Mena back to Lucre? Or...wherever?  
  
It's safer there. Anyway--  
  
Bill held up a hand, cutting him off again. Sorry...but did Mena have any say in this? He shot Guybrush a disbelieving look. Does she even _know_?  
  
She knows, Guybrush answered, sighing. She had a lot to say about it, believe me. He glanced over his shoulder as if afraid Armena might suddenly appear in the doorway. Bill chuckled darkly.  
  
Somehow I figured...and, er, have you considered she might be right? I mean, I know you're her father and everything, but I've known her since I was three. She's smart, she knows a lot about ghosts--and if you ask me, I'm starting to wonder if maybe the Voodoo Lady hasn't been teaching her stuff like that for a reason_._ It got that talisman working, after all.  
  
Guybrush shrugged. I don't know...and I don't exactly trust the Voodoo Lady right now, either.  
  
Bill nodded and went back to scanning the map. Okay...but I'm just warning you, Mena'll probably find some way to sneak back onboard the second you throw her off. He smiled. She's...like that.  
  
She gets that from her mother, Guybrush answered, then fell silent. Bill cleared his throat and changed the subject.  
  
Right--well, um, if you really wanted to, we could try a direct route to Lucre...but I think... He squinted at the map and traced a line on it with his thumb. That'd take us right near Pinchpenny.  
  
Where one of LeChuck's ships would catch us, Guybrush finished. He scratched the back of his head and then looked at the deck above and below him. Then again--we're one of LeChuck's ships too, technically.  
  
What do you-- Bill suddenly caught on, and he grinned. Do we still have the original sails for this crate?  
  


***  


  
Armena stormed into the captain's cabin intent on telling her father just how she felt about him and his brilliant idea--again (she'd thought of more insults while storming through the ship)--and was surprised to find it empty.  
  
she said, looking around, that was rude. She threw herself down into the chair and began rooting through the desk, determined to wait until Guybrush decided to come back. In one of the drawers, she found a beat-up old journal that looked as if it had been waterlogged multiple times and gone through more than a few adventures. She flipped through it, surprised to find that every entry began the same: _From the personal log of Guybrush Threepwood..._  
  
She almost shut the journal then and there, not wanting to intrude on her father's personal journal...but then she remembered she was supposed to be furious with him and changed her mind.  
  
As journals went, though, it was fairly disappointing--there was more purple prose than there was actual content. One entry near the beginning, though, caught her eye. Scribbled in the margin in barely-legible handwriting were the words Directions to Monkey Island  
  
Armena squinted at the list that followed--it looked more like a recipe than anything else, and a particularly unappetizing one at that. A closer inspection, however, revealed that maybe it really _was _directions...in a way. She grinned. Maybe she didn't have _all _the ingredients, but nobody said improvising was a bad thing in a voodoo spell...  
  


***  


  
With a copy of the in one hand and a bag full of voodoo ingredients in the other, Armena snuck out of the captain's cabin and towards the ship's kitchens. She counted on the idea that those few who were up on deck would be too distracted by various things--as they usually were--and for once her luck held. Estevan was still buried in maps and Carla, up in the crow's nest, was too busy sulking to notice much of anything going on on the deck below. Armena grinned and walked on quiet tiptoe down the stairs.  
  
Below deck, she was much more careful and kept a constant eye out for her father. She had no idea where he'd gotten to, or what he was up to. And somehow, she doubted that that could be a good thing.  
  
Oof--you know, I would've appreciated a _warning_. Nothing fancy, just a patching tar weighs a ton, just so you know' or something like that. Really. That's all. Armena froze in her tracks, recognizing Bill's voice. It seemed to be coming from the deck directly below and was headed up the stairs in her direction.  
  
Sorry--hey, watch where you're going!--I thought you knew. She flinched, recognizing her father's voice, too. She had no idea what those two could possibly be up to, but she wasn't much inclined to stick around and find out. There was a closed door just at hand, unlocked, and Armena didn't hesitate in opening it and diving into the room beyond. The door closed behind her just as Guybrush and Bill staggered their way up the stairs, barely balancing a barrel full of tar between them.  
  
Did you hear something? Bill asked, casting a glance down the narrow passageway.  
  
Guybrush followed his gaze, wincing as a splinter dug its way into his palm. Nope...didn't hear a thing. Why?  
  
Bill shrugged. Never mind. Come on, let's just get this thing up the stairs before we kill ourselves.  
  
When she heard them continue up the stairs, Armena let out a quiet sigh of relief. She turned around to see where she was--it was fairly dark; all the windows had been boarded shut long ago and there were only a couple of lamps lit. Those few lamps provided barely enough light to see by, but she thought she caught a glimpse of cabinets and--maybe--a few pots and pans.  
  
she muttered, and went about trying to light the other lamps.  
  
She'd just finished lighting the lamps and was lighting the fire in the stove when she heard a floorboard creak behind her. As she started to turn around to see what, if anything, had made the noise, the tip of a knife was pressed into her back. She sighed. Well, at least you're armed this time.  


  
***  


  
Guybrush looked up at the sail and all the white patches in it, then at the barrel, then at the sail again. Maybe they won't notice if we just leave it the way it is...?  
  
Bill snorted. Yeah, right.  
  
Guybrush echoed, shaking his head. Maybe we can get Carla or somebody to help us. Hey Carla!  
  
Carla peered down over the edge of the crow's nest. Upon seeing Bill, her eyes narrowed dangerously. _What_, Fripweed?  
  
How'd you--um--how'd you like to help us cover up all the patches on the sails?  
  
She stared at him for a minute. You're nuts, Fripweed. Then she turned away, fixing her attention on the sea again. Bill looked over at Guybrush and shook his head.  
  
Whatever happened to ordering people around?  
  
He shook his head. Nobody orders Carla around. She'd disobey orders even if you bothered giving them to her.  
  
If you say so, Bill said, sighing. I'll go see if I can find somebody else. Maybe Mena'll be willing to help.  
  
Only if she gets to tar and feather me afterwards.  
  
He snorted. Yeah, right.  


  
***  


  
John looked over her shoulder at the bag of ingredients she held. What're you doing in here?  
  
None of your business, Armena shot back angrily.  
  
He grabbed the recipe out of her other hand and glanced at it. It seemed to take him a few minutes to read and understand it. Monkey Island... He crumpled the page up in his hand and pressed the knife harder into her back. Your father's idea?  
  
She snorted.   
  
He spun her around so that she faced him. His thick eyebrows were knotted together in confusion. Another one of your stupid ideas?  
  
Something like that.  
  
He shook his head. Going to Monkey Island's suicide. Does he know you're doing...this? He gestured vaguely around the kitchen. Then he grabbed hold of her arm again, pointing the knife at her. Or is this _really _one of your stupid ideas?  
  
Armena sighed. He doesn't know. So no, he won't come looking for me here anytime soon, if that's what you're wondering. Now are you going to kill me or what?  
  
John frowned. I was thinking more of a hostage situation.  
  
Which doesn't do _you _much good, since it's a little hard to have a hostage situation when nobody knows you've got a hostage. Right?  
  
His eyebrows knotted together still further, but only for a moment. Then he shook the knife at her angrily, growling French curses left and right. Stop doing that!  
  
Doing what? She grinned as innocently as she possibly could while her hand started undoing the clasp on her bag. Hopefully all the ingredients were in order...  
  
Never mind, John snapped, tugging her towards the center of the room. How long do you think it'll take for your _father--_ he kept spitting out the word--to notice you're missing?  
  
Armena folded her arms across her chest, ignoring his restraining hand for the time being. We had a fight. It'll be a while. John cursed under his breath again. Not what you were hoping for, hmm?  
  
Not exactly. He sighed. You got any rope in that bag? I don't want to stand here holding onto you the entire time we're waiting.  
  
She opened the bag up the rest of the way, peering inside. Well, no, but I do have this powdered cinnamon here.  
  
John snorted. What good's _that _going to do?  
  
She calmly pulled the cap off the bottle. Not sure. Let me see. And with one quick movement, she grabbed a handful of the stuff and tossed it at John. He let go of her arm to shield his eyes, though it did him little good, and Armena, coughing, immediately set to work.  
  
While John was kept busy coughing and swearing and desperately trying to get the cinnamon out of his eyes, she managed to get a pot over the fire and water poured into it. She didn't bother waiting for the water to start boiling--she knew there wouldn't be enough time--so she upended the entire contents of her bag into the pot.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Armena scowled at it. Why won't you work?  
  
John, his eyes still stinging and tearing up, managed to get behind her and poke the knife into her back again. Because it was your stupid idea, that's why. He sneezed, sending a cloud of cinnamon into the air.  
  
No, I don't think so... She shook her head, completely ignoring him for the time being. She was mentally running over a list of all the ingredients, trying to figure out which one she'd forgotten or found a bad substitute for. Nothing came immediately to mind.  
  
Come on-- he jerked her roughly away from the pot--let's go. I've got to find some rope.  
  
She stumbled, and then her eyes fell on the recipe. It was lying in a crumpled ball on the floor. Armena glanced at John, who was more concerned with trying to drag her out of there than anything else.   
  
He paused.   
  
Should I call you Eligo now or what?  
  
He stopped entirely, though he kept a tight grip on her arm--preventing her from making a quick dive for the paper. So you talked to your father.  
  
Yeah. I did. She did her best to look sympathetic. I'm sorry about your father--I didn't know.  
  
John shrugged. I'll get back at Threepwood soon enough.  
  
Armena coughed uncomfortably. Why'd you change your name?  
  
He looked at her and shook his head. You're so naive, girl. Yeah, I'm going to walk around the Caribbean and introduce myself as Eligo LaGrande.' Yeah, that'll go over _real _well. Especially with LeChuck's whole lot.  
  
Well, I don't know, I just thought... She paused, then added, So what _do _I call you?  
  
I don't know. And I don't really care, either. I didn't really plan on talking to you again. He started to pull her away again, then stopped, looking at the pot. It was still boiling, and the combination of all those voodoo ingredients was making it smell funny. What _is _that stuff?  
  
Oh. You know. Just some stuff. My lunch, actually... She smiled as innocently as she possibly could--let him think she was stupid and naive.  
  
John looked at her for a long moment, then rolled his eyes. You're disgusting.  
  
Not any more than you are, she shot back. He was about to retaliate--with his knife, it looked like--when the door opened and Bill walked in. Armena and John both froze. Bill sputtered blankly for a minute before he yelled for help.  
  
Armena seized the opportunity--she took the moment of confusion to dive out of John's grasp, grab the paper off the floor, and toss it into the pot just as John grabbed hold of her again and put the knife up against her throat.  
  
He didn't have time to do much of anything in the way of threatening her, though, because at that exact moment the greenish looking slop in the pot started to boil, pop, and possibly even explode, filling the air with a sickening smell.  
  
At which point everyone passed out.  
  


***  


  
Armena woke up face down on the floor with a nasty headache and the sound of someone yelling at her. Or at least trying to.  
  
Armena...um...whatever-your-middle-name-is...geez, this is embarrassing...Marley-Threepwood!  
  
She opened one eye just as her father gently rolled her over onto her back. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a blurry glimpse of Bill, hauling a very groggy-looking John out of the room. The knife was on the floor by her hand. Groaning, she rubbed her temples and tried to focus on something. Guybrush seemed the most collected and awake of all of them, and he'd also taken the bandage off his head, leaving behind only a small scrape that probably wouldn't even leave a scar.  
  
What did you think you were _doing_? he demanded, at the same time carefully pulling her into a sitting position and supporting her back with his hand. I don't know _how _you found that recipe, but so help me, we're going to turn this ship around and go to Lucre Island _right now_!  
  
Armena ignored him. Did we make it to Monkey Island?  
  
He paused, glared at her, then answered, Yes. Not like it does us much good--we'll be surrounded by LeChuck's fleet the second they realize we're here. Which is why we're turning the ship around. Now come on--it's not as bad as you think it is. It gets better when you stand up. Guybrush pulled her gently to her feet. She swayed--the room didn't seem to want to stop spinning. After a moment, though, things sorted themselves out, and she started to feel a little better.  
  
We don't have to leave, she said, shaking her head. If we can get out of sight before one of LeChuck's ships notices us--  
  
Mena, the _Persephone_'s the most wanted ship in the Caribbean right now. Trust me, they'll notice us.  
  
She sighed. I thought you _wanted _to go to Monkey Island.  
  
Yeah, but not like this. Advance warning would've been nice. He paused, then snapped, What were you thinking?  
  
She smiled faintly. Maybe I wasn't. I'm supposed to be _stupid_, you know. Guybrush groaned and hung his head in his hands.  
  
Look, Mena, I didn't mean--  
  
By the way, Armena continued, still smiling, my middle name's Torquemada. Then she slipped out the door, leaving Guybrush shaking his head in her wake.  
  
I thought Elaine _promised _she wouldn't even think about using that name!  
  
She stuck her head back in the door. Apparently, she and I both lie.  
  
He had just opened his mouth to shoot back a reply when Bill came charging down the stairs, nearly crashing right into Armena. One of LeChuck's ships-- he sputtered out, trying to steady himself and catch his breath at the same time. They're boarding. They recognized us--her captain said he wanted to talk to Threepwood. Quickly, Bill turned and sprinted back the way he'd come.  
  
Guybrush turned pale and looked torn between rallying himself with some overly dramatic statement and fainting, but Armena cut him off. I'll go, she said, turning for the stairs. Guybrush rushed forward and grabbed her hand.  
  
No, _I'll _go. It's me they want.  
  
Bill said the captain wanted to talk to Threepwood.' He never said which one. She smiled as he finally caught on to what she was saying. she added, the smile vanishing, they'll kill you on sight. At least I stand a chance.  
  
Guybrush hugged her tightly. But be careful.  
  
She returned the gesture, then, taking a deep breath, started for the stairs again. I'll let you know when it's safe, she said, then took off up the stairs.  


  
***  


  
The second Armena's blonde-haired head appeared on deck, two skeletons grabbed her by the arms and hauled her forward to where a ghost, obviously their captain, was standing.  
  
The captain--of one of the less important flagships, from the looks of things--was something else entirely. He was a ghost, and unlike some other ghosts Armena had bumped into lately it was painfully obvious how he'd died. Half of his face, already twisted by old scars, was marked with new wounds. His left arm hung useless at his side and instead of floating, like most ghosts did, he preferred to walk--allowing his right foot to drag behind him and scrape under the ship's deck. He already had half the crew on deck cowering in fear or disgust, and now he fixed his narrow, one-eyed gaze on Armena.   
  
You supposed to be Threepwood? He looked her up and down and then laughed bitterly. Threepwood, you've changed. What--new haircut?  
  
Armena's eyes narrowed on him, but she let the remarks slide. I'm Armena, she said. There's nobody named Threepwood here.  
  
This is _his _ship, the ghost snapped back angrily. One of his skeletons, his empty-eyed gaze fixed on Armena, tapped him on the shoulder.   
  
Uh, Captain LaGrande-- Armena's eyes widened when she heard the captain's name--um, weren't we supposed to be waiting for the Voodoo Lady's apprentice?  
  
Largo didn't appear to make the connection right away. he snarled,   
  
Er--isn't her name supposed to be Armena?  
  
Largo looked at the skeleton, then at Armena, then back at the skeleton again. he said at last. He turned to her and shook his head. You the Voodoo Lady's apprentice?  
  
Armena nodded quickly. That's me, yes. She bit her lower lip and hoped that she hadn't just said anything that might get her in trouble. _How the heck did they know to expect me? _She tried to think of someone who might have known she was coming--and could think of no one.  
  
Largo's thick eyebrows arched. You got here quick. Voodoo Lady's messenger just left. He snapped his fingers at the skeletons who had taken up positions all around the deck. Get outta here, all of ya! Then, to Armena, Do I even want to know how you got a hold of Threepwood's ship?  
  
Oh, I took care of him, she said, grinning darkly. Then, noticing Carla moving around in the corner of her vision, she added, And just, you know, resurrected his crew.  
  
He snorted--he looked a bit disappointed. Yeah? Too bad I wasn't there to see it. LeChuck'll _love _this.  
  
Armena cleared her throat--about LeChuck...  
  
  
  
Um, what is it he wants me to do, exactly? She swallowed and hoped she wasn't blowing what little cover she had. I mean, I left so fast, you know...  
  
Largo nodded. Fixing some hexes on Elaine's prison--she keeps escaping. She's not supposed to do that, ya know? Anyway, you'd better fix em--LeChuck's holding up the wedding and everything for this. He don't like waiting long for anybody, either. He shot Armena a dark look. You follow my ship in. Then I'll take you to take care of those hexes--and I'll leave a guard on your crew. When you're done, LeChuck'll probably want to talk to you, especially when he catches wind of what you did to Threepwood. Then you can leave, maybe. If LeChuck lets you. He grinned--a movement which twisted his scarred face in a manner which was distinctly sickening--and then turned and left. When he was back on his own ship, he quickly ordered his crew to head back to Monkey Island, and Armena did likewise. Soon, the _Persephone _was following Largo's ship at a wary distance.  
  
Armena and a few other crewmembers who'd never seen Monkey Island before peered over the siderail as the island came into focus. But it was less an island and more like a fortress, now. Docks had been built on all the island's beaches to house LeChuck's massive armada--though most of the ships were out patrolling other strongholds on other islands. Only a couple of the black-sailed ships were actually docked, obviously for repairs and possibly for crew rotations.  
  
At the island's only peak--a dormant volcano--small lookout points had been built and heavily armed with cannons. Armena caught a glimpse of a skeleton's bleached-white skull poking up above the stone walls. And where the lookout points couldn't defend the island well enough, there were ships drifting in the water, forming a loose blockade of sorts. The ships, though, were obviously old and in want of repair and looked as if they might not be able to put up much of a fight if someone brought enough ships in against them.  
  
As for the island itself--much of what must have once been a lush jungle had been clear-cut to build the docks and more of LeChuck's ships. The island was relatively flat, so with the jungle cut away, anyone approaching had a clear view of the island from the beach to the dormant volcano. Armena didn't see anything that looked like LeChuck's fortress, but every now and again skeletons would appear from the little jungle that was still remaining--she figured they had to be coming from the fortress.  
  
As the ship pulled in closer to the docks under the wary eye of Largo and his crew, Armena turned to Bill--he'd given up the wheel to Estevan after it became obvious he'd crash the ship into the island he was so busy gawking at. she hissed in a low voice, suddenly wary of being overheard, I'm going to talk to my father. If anybody asks, tell them I'm putting some voodoo stuff together--and I _don't _want to be interrupted.  
  
He nodded. Will do, Mena. I'll keep them busy until you can get back up here.  
  
She smiled gratefully and snuck away below deck. She'd barely gone a few steps down the stairs, however, when she ran smack into her father. He almost went tumbling backwards, but he managed to catch himself in time. Oof--I guess you pulled something off, since we're all still alive?  
  
Armena snorted. I didn't have to do anything--they were expecting me.  
  
His eyes went wide. He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her down the stairs, back into the warm light of the kitchens. It still smelled faintly of that voodoo recipe she'd cooked up--Armena wrinkled her nose at the smell. They don't even know you exist, how could they--  
  
The Voodoo Lady told them to expect her apprentice to show up. I guess--I guess they've got hexes on Elaine's prison or something...that aren't working right. I guess they asked her to fix them and she told them she was sending me, instead. But why-- She looked around, half-expecting to see the Voodoo Lady standing there beside them. _So _that's _how they knew I was coming_, she thought. _The Voodoo Lady must've known..._  
  
Guybrush said, interrupting her thoughts, what does that mean?  
  
Well, it means I've got a way to Elaine...and possibly LeChuck. I could probably resurrect Elaine before they suspected anything.  
  
Guybrush frowned. What about me?  
  
What about you? Armena looked at him, confused. I suppose you could sneak onto the island later, but it wouldn't be easy, and anyway, I don't see why--  
  
You're not facing LeChuck alone, Guybrush answered, with as much sternness in his voice as he could muster. I won't let you. I'll sneak onto the island later, somehow. Don't worry about it. Just don't even think about attacking LeChuck without me.  
  
Armena waited a few moments before responding--she didn't want to lose her temper, tempting though the idea was. Finally, she nodded. But if you get caught...  
  
I won't. She couldn't tell if he was just boasting again or not, so she just nodded.  
  
All right--I should be going. Stay below deck, and stay out of sight--they're going to be posting guards.  
  
Don't worry, Mena. Just...tell your mother I said hi.  
  
She smiled faintly. I will.  


  
***  


  
When Armena came back up on deck, the _Persephone _had already docked right alongside Largo's ship. Skeletal guards were milling around on the deck, and Bill and the rest of her crew were standing near the mainmast doing their best to look harmless. Largo himself was waiting down on the docks, pacing impatiently. Armena offered Bill a small, hopeful smile, then jumped down onto the docks below.  
  
It's about time, Largo snapped, though he couldn't have been waiting for more than a few minutes. That's all your crew, right?  
  
Armena nodded quickly.   
  
It'd better be, he answered, glaring at her. Come on. He turned and shuffled off away from the docks, motioning for her to follow him.  
  
Largo moved slowly through the clear-cut jungle, along a wide, well-beaten path that twisted around the stumps of the trees. Occasionally they had to move aside for a patrol of skeletons to shuffle through, though it was more often the skeletons who moved aside for them--they all seemed inclined to give Largo a wide berth. A couple of them, however, took up positions as Armena's escort, walking a pace or two behind and keeping a wary eye on her.  
  
Largo led her through a long-dried lava field which showed the wear and tear of many feet walking along the same path, then along a second, wider path, which widened still further once they reached the jungle. An eerie silence hung over the area--as they walked along, Armena never heard the sound of any birds or other animals, least of all monkeys.  
  
Finally, just when the too-quiet jungle started growing too claustrophobic for her tastes, the path ended in an open clearing and a large, gaping hole. Armena peered at it--it looked as if something had been there once, but had been completely destroyed. A second catastrophe--a cave-in, it looked like--had partially collapsed the entrance and left another, smaller hole in the earth not far off. Only the first, however, was actually guarded. Largo didn't even hesitate as he led her through the guards--again, they parted to give him a wide berth--and down a set of roughly-hewn steps into the cave system itself.  
  
From the entrance, the caverns opened up into a series of twisting passages, some of which had clearly been abandoned long ago. Many were caved-in or just unused, but there were several which had lanterns lit along the walls, indicating that they were still in use. Largo led Armena down one of these and through a complicated series of twists and turns. Armena tried keeping track of the route, but gave up after she figured out that Largo was partly leading her in circles anyway--to confuse her, she imagined. _Well, he succeeded_, she thought, shaking her head.  
  
Finally, they came to a wide hallway thick with skeletal patrols. There were several doors or badly carved chambers leading off from the hall, but one was of particular interest: it was the most heavily guarded door Armena had seen so far. In here, Largo grunted, motioning to the door. The skeletons moved aside again, except for one, who rested his hand on the heavy door handle. Largo said, I'll let you in and then wait here. You just...do whatever it is you have to. And make it fast.  
  
She nodded. Largo snorted and made some sort of signal to the skeleton, who quickly opened the door just barely wide enough for her to squeeze through, pushed her into the room, and slammed the door shut behind her.  
  
Armena slowly picked herself up off the floor, muttering and checking to make sure a stinging scrape on her arm wasn't as bad as it felt like. I wonder if they treat the Voodoo Lady like this...  
  
They don't.  
  
Armena looked up, somehow surprised to hear another woman's voice. A ghost floated a few inches off the floor, watching her from a wary distance. She was tall, with long, thick hair held back by a bandana. Her clothes were smudged with dirt and soot, and her beautiful face was marked by a dark, angry look. And even though she had to know that she was a prisoner in what was essentially a bare room--hardly even bigger than a shoebox--the look of contempt she shot at Armena was enough to make her cringe.  
  
she coughed and quickly pushed herself to her feet. You're--you're Elaine Marley, right?  
  
She glared, then shook her head, rolling her eyes. Don't tell me you didn't know that. Where'd they ever find _you_?  
  
Lucre Island, Armena shot back. She slipped the talisman and its chain up over her head, holding it out for Elaine to see. And I'm here to rescue you. So unless you have any _more _insults to fling at me, we're a little pressed for time...  
  
Elaine snorted. She leaned against the wall, sinking only part way through it, and that with some resistance. Armena winced as she felt all the hexes in the room almost buckle and give way under the strain. They were horribly flawed, right down to their most basic parts. She grinned--the Voodoo Lady must have had something to do with that.  
  
Who sent you? Elaine asked, picking at a nail disinterestedly. If LeChuck's trying to get me to escape so he can figure out how I'm doing it, so help me I'll--  
  
I'm working with my--with Guybrush Threepwood.  
  
Elaine's eyes widened, but that was all. she snorted, shaking her head. He gave up trying to rescue me a long time ago.  
  
Armena smiled weakly. That's why I resurrected him. I hear he does a lot more damage when he's actually alive. Now-- she straightened, trying to focus on the task at hand--he could stumble in here any minute, and I'm supposed to have you free by then. Only problem is, there's a bunch of guards outside, and we don't want them raising the alarm. So...I'm willing to take suggestions. She almost threw in the idea that Elaine was insulting her own daughter, but she held back. _One thing at a time, _she thought, watching Elaine.  
  
I can escape, she said, drifting closer to Armena, but not when I'm...alive. There's a little alcove just down the hall. If you're really working with Guybrush, you can meet me there. If not... The look she gave her more than filled in the rest of that sentence. Armena started to nod, but Elaine had already gone--she'd dived into the wall and through all the hexes despite their best efforts to keep her there.  
  
Well, that was...interesting. Dad really should've warned me about her... Armena cleared her throat, put the talisman back around her neck and out of sight, and knocked twice on the door. A skeleton opened it a fraction of an inch.  
  
Let me out! she yelled, doing her best to sound worried and panicky. She escaped!  
  
The door flew open the rest of the way, bringing Armena face-to-face with Largo LaGrande's ugly visage. What d'you mean, she _escaped_? If he'd been alive, he probably would have throttled her right then and there. What kind of apprentice are you, you stupid little--  
  
Armena immediately took a page from the Voodoo Lady's book--she drew herself up to her full height and towered over Largo in a manner which was distinctly threatening. If you would get out of my way, she said in a low voice, I could find her. But if you insist on standing there...well, I can let her escape. I don't care.  
  
Largo grumbled something under his breath, but moved aside. _We'll _find her, he said. You'll just follow along to help us bring her back.  
  
_I'll _find her, she answered, stalking out of the room with as much disdain as she could muster. I get the impression that you've had to do this sort of thing before--how long did it take for you to find her and bring her back? A day, a week? I don't think _Commodore _LeChuck would be very pleased. She smirked, then started off down the hall, looking for the alcove Elaine had mentioned. Largo trailed after her with a couple of guards in tow.  
  
If you think we're going to let you run around without anybody looking over your shoulder--  
  
Armena paused--the alcove was just in sight, a narrow crack in the wall just a few feet away. She turned on her heel, glaring down at Largo again. She's still around here somewhere. And so long as you and your skeletons are hanging around, she won't come quietly. They didn't appear convinced, however. She sighed.  
  
Do you remember who I am? she asked in a low, barely audible growl. I'm the Voodoo Lady's apprentice. And if I have to go back and explain to her that she won't be getting any pay from LeChuck because _you _wouldn't let me do _my _job, well, I don't think she'll be happy. She paused, then added, And you don't want the Voodoo Lady to be angry with you...do you?  
  
Largo took a step backwards, grumbling all the while. I'll empty the hall--but that's it. If she escapes to anyplace else, you get us as an escort, got it?  
  
She nodded, smiling. Got it.  
  
They withdrew from the passageway quickly, and Armena slipped into the alcove the second she was sure they were gone.  


  
***  


  
Guybrush finished prying the boards off one of the scullery windows, squinting at the bright light that suddenly flooded the room. Cautiously, he poked his head out and looked around. The window happened to be right above the docks, fortunately, and there were no skeletons in the area. He peered up at the _Persephone_'s deck--no skeletons currently looking over the siderail, either.  
  
He grinned and then slid out the window, dropping to the deck below with a clumsy thump. As quickly and quietly as he could, he pulled himself back up to his feet and sprinted for the nearest cover--one of the other ships.  
  
Guybrush had just ducked around the side of the neighboring boat when one of the skeletons, hearing the noise, made it over to the siderail to investigate. What was that? he demanded, turning to the _Persephone_'s crewmembers.  
  
Bill shrugged. Don't look at us. It was probably just a rat or something.  
  
Carla added, snickering, a really _big _rat.  
  
The skeleton shook his head at them and turned away.  
  


***  


  
Elaine shrank away from her the moment she entered the alcove, ready to dart away through the wall at any moment. Armena tried smiling weakly at her, again pulling the talisman off and into her hand. This'll only take a second, she said. I just need you to hold still.  
  
Elaine held her hand up to stop her. How can I trust you? You _say _you're working with--with Guybrush, but--  
  
Armena took a deep breath, interrupting her. Because I'm the Voodoo Lady's apprentice.  
  
Like that's a reason; I still don't know if she's really working for LeChuck or not.  
  
...And my name's Armena Torquemada Marley-Threepwood.  
  
There was a long, awkward silence. Elaine stared at her with a strange glint in her eyes, looking her up and down over and over again. she said quietly, that's reason enough.  
  
I thought it would be. Armena stepped closer to her, closing her eyes, then swung the talisman out like she had for Guybrush and the others. And, like before, Elaine landed on the ground perfectly solid again, albeit with a touch more grace than anyone else had.  
  
Armena opened her eyes and looked straight into a set of dark blue eyes almost identical to her own--save for the fact that these had a touch more inner fire, more determination.  
  
Elaine took only a moment to straighten her long auburn hair and shake some dirt from her sleeves before she looked at Armena again. Well, it's nice to see the Voodoo Lady lived up to her promise. She paused, then added, And it's nice to see you're not...you know, a complete maniac or something.  
  
Armena grinned. Well, um, actually...  
  
Don't tell me, she answered, chuckling. I'll bet you take after your father enough as it is.  
  
Funny, he says I take after _you_.  
  
So you really did find him. Elaine smiled and almost looked like she wanted to hug her, but she quickly snapped back to the matter at hand. Right. Well, you said he'd be here eventually, assuming he doesn't bungle anything up...and there's still those guards to deal with, not to mention LeChuck. You leave the guards to me, Mena. Go find your father and take care of LeChuck. She hugged her once, briefly, then disappeared out into the hall.  
  


***  


  
Guybrush slid around the tree and through the underbrush, picking dirt and leaves out of his hair the entire time. The fact that he'd even made it this far inland was a miracle--he'd only just escaped being seen by several patrols of skeletons--but he didn't think it was much of anything. Crawling through the bug-infested underbrush just wasn't worth it. _They'll never let me hear the end of this, _he thought, shaking a large, dangerous-looking bug off his sleeve.  
  
He slowed and then stopped entirely as the jungle began to thin out. A handful of tree stumps started appearing, as if LeChuck's minions had started to clear-cut this area like they had the rest of the island but had, for some reason, stopped. Guybrush figured he had to be getting close to the old clearing by now. He risked standing up to get his bearings.  
  
He was actually several yards north of the clearing, which was probably a good thing--skeletons were completely swarming the clearing proper. From the way they were acting, organizing themselves into groups and descending down into the caverns as quickly as they could, it looked as if someone had done something to sound the alarm. Guybrush grinned.  
  
There was a hole in the ground not two feet away, the site of a cave-in Guybrush recognized with a sort of sickening clarity--that was the way LeChuck had escaped the caverns seventeen years ago, and it was the same way Guybrush had left, too, after he'd...died. He sighed and looked at the dark, gaping hole warily. It didn't look as if the cave below had been put to any use in recent years, so he figured that it was probably the safest way into the caverns.  
  
The sound of a pistol being cocked made him look up at the jungle across the way. He half expected to find a skeleton standing there, but what he found instead was, quite possibly, worse: Mad Johnathan the Incapable, with a loaded gun and a smirk on his face.  
  
Guybrush let out a long sigh and held his hands up in the air. Do I even want to know how you escaped? Again?  
  
John grinned darkly. I know how to pick locks. It sort of...runs in the family.  
  
Your father probably would've just ripped the door off its hinges. He never was the subtle type. He rolled his eyes, starting to tap his foot on the ground. Now really, I'm kind of in the middle of something here, so--  
  
John waved the gun in a manner which was distinctly threatening. I'm not letting you get away, Threepwood. You murdered my father, remember?  
  
He sighed. No, LeChuck killed your father. And it's not like he didn't have it coming. Now, is there a chance we could talk about this later? I've got to go find my--  
  
John said, relaxing his grip on the gun a little. Okay, yeah, we can talk later.  
  
Guybrush let out a deep sigh of relief and started lowering his hands. Phew, that's a relief.  
  
But I still plan to shoot you _now_, John added, bringing the gun back to up to bear. Guybrush frowned.  
  
That's not fair.  
  
John shrugged. I'm a LaGrande, what can I say? Then he pulled the trigger.  
  
Guybrush, in a frantic effort to somehow avoid getting shot, dove for the ground. But as he dove, he tripped over a tree root and went sprawling, sliding right up to and then _into_ the hole in the ground.  
  
The cave floor also happened to be a lot further down than he remembered.  
  
  
  
John leaned down over the edge of the hole, shaking his head slowly.   
  


***  


  
Armena stopped when she came to a set of doors that were different from all the others she'd seen. These had a more permanent, impressive look about them. They were also closed and unguarded. She looked around for any sign of the guards, but they seemed to have run off somewhere--probably to answer the alarm that had been ringing so insistently just a few moments earlier.  
  
She rested one hand on the doors, clutching the talisman tightly in the other. After a moment frozen like that, she thought she heard guards coming down the corridor, so she quickly pushed the doors open and slipped inside.  
  
If I were ye, a voice said, I wouldn't be showin' up here till ye found my bride.  
  


***  


  
When Guybrush managed to stagger to his feet, shaking off dust and dirt and cobwebs, he was quick to find the exit and get out of there before John had any ideas about following him. He walked slowly and carefully, though, partially because he was afraid of running into any guards, and partially because his back hurt so much.  
  
The corridor he walked into was lit only occasionally by the glow of lanterns, as if someone used this particularly passage, but not often enough to warrant proper lighting. Part of it was collapsed, too, and the floor broken at regular intervals by cracks sometimes wide enough to be called small fissures. Guybrush picked his steps carefully and kept a wary eye and ear out for any of LeChuck's guards.  
  
He managed to find his way from there to some of the more well-lit tunnels, though these, too, were obviously not used very often. As he walked he stirred up a thick layer of dust and had to try hard to keep from sneezing. The dust soon began to thin, however, and he could make out the occasional skeletal footprint. The passages began to twist more, too, into an eerily familiar maze. Guybrush began peering around each corner or turn he came to, just to make sure there were no skeletons waiting for him. He was still, however, hopelessly lost, and he also suspected that he was going in circles.  
  
At one particularly sharp turn--it _had _to be man-made--he stopped, hearing footsteps. They didn't sound, however, like the usual clicking and scraping of a skeleton. In fact, they sounded more like someone wearing shoes--someone very light and graceful on their feet.  
  
Guybrush thought quickly. He knew it couldn't be Armena, since she sounded more like a herd of monkeys than anything _graceful_, and so did John, and while there were some living pirates in LeChuck's employ, they were usually confined to his ships or other strongholds. That only left...  
  
He took a deep breath and turned the corner--straight into somebody's fist.  
  
Oh, sorry, said a familiar voice that made Guybrush's heart jump into his throat. I didn't know it was you.  
  
He rubbed his forehead and looked up at her. She was watching him impassively; something in her eyes was almost unwelcoming. Her hair was in slight disarray and there was a tiny cut on her cheek. She held a sword in her right hand, obviously stolen, and Guybrush was suddenly rather glad she'd decided to punch him. It was certainly better than the alternative.  
  
He fumbled, as if his vocabulary had spontaneously abandoned him.   
  
She smiled faintly. Yes, Guybrush. Now here...let me help you up. She set her sword down for the time being, extending her hand out to him. Her palm was warm and familiar to his touch as she gently pulled him to his feet.  
  
As he stood, trying to catch his balance, he started to say something again. He still couldn't seem to form a complete sentence, though, and Elaine hadn't yet let go of his hand. Um, Elaine...  
  
She grinned and pulled him, completely unsuspecting, into a chokehold. _Guybrush Ulysses Threepwood_! You _told _me that curse wasn't anything to worry about! Did you actually _ask _the Voodoo Lady about it or did you just _tell _me you did?  
  
Guybrush tried to reply, but it only came out as a confused and desperate-sounding Elaine continued, undaunted.  
  
You and your..._antics_, she said, her tone more than a little accusatory. Guybrush winced, still struggling to relieve some of the pressure she was putting on his windpipe. If it hadn't been for that curse, neither of us would've been turned into ghosts! And we probably wouldn't've been stuck with _LeChuck _for seventeen years!  
  
He squawked again, which Elaine somehow managed to interpret that as a signal that he wanted to say something. She dropped him to the ground with a distinct lack of gentleness.   
  
he coughed, taking in a deep breath of air--What are you talking about? He frowned. This couldn't be Elaine, he reasoned. Yet she seemed real enough...  
  
The curse, she snapped back, shaking her head. The hands of Midas.' I didn't forget, but _you _obviously did.  
  
That was enough to jog his memory. He winced again, rubbing his eyes. Oh, geez. Elaine, I--I swear, the Voodoo Lady told me it wasn't real. Then again, there's a lot of things she forgot' to tell me the last time I talked to her. He sighed. I thought the curse would turn us all into gold statues or something. And I mean, the avalanche and everything--I thought I really _was _dead.  
  
Elaine relaxed, sliding down the wall to sit next to him. Well, you were wrong.  
  
  
  
She reached out and straightened his shirt collar, which had gotten ruffled in their argument. I've been meaning to say that for seventeen years.  
  
Glad to see you remembered me, he grumbled, looking away.  
  
Just because I've been wanting to yell at you doesn't mean I didn't miss you, Guybrush. She got her arm around him and hugged him, this time. He smiled and made to kiss her, but she held up a hand to stop him. We still have to deal with LeChuck, plunderbunny.  
  
He groaned. Yeah, right... Suddenly a thought came to him, and he bit his lower lip, a knot of fear slowly curling its way into his stomach. Hey, Elaine?  
  
She was already on her feet and picking up her sword again.   
  
If we weren't really dead...then Mena didn't resurrect us, did she?  
  
No, why?  
  
The knot tightened so suddenly it was almost painful. She thought she did, though...she thought she could use the talisman to control the dead. But all she really did was break a curse.  
  
Elaine's eyes widened as she caught on to what he was thinking. Find her, she said, her voice strained. If we're lucky she's still looking for you, or she's lost, or--LeChuck's grand chamber's down the passage and to the right. It's at the end of a long hall, probably guarded. Get there before she does. I'll...I'll try to keep the guards distracted, or something. She took off at a run, and Guybrush didn't hesitate in following suit.


	5. Act Five: A Fist In The Eye

Act Five: A Fist In The Eye**  
  
  
**

Armena smiled at LeChuck as meekly as she could possibly manage. she said, keeping her eyes on the ground, I'm really sorry about that, you know, the whole escaping thing...but I'm sure that LaGrande ghost can find her. She can't have gotten far.  
  
Ye think so, do ye? LeChuck strode closer to her, his feet smashing against the stone floor with every step. The _last _time this happened, she nearly escaped for good! Ye don't want that ta happen _this time_, now do ye? His dark eyes flickered with anger.  
  
Um, no. She cleared her throat and clenched her hand tighter around the talisman. I just...well, I'm sure they'll catch her.  
  
LeChuck snorted. He walked back over to the center of the room, where a massive stone throne rested. It looked to be just a shadow of its former glory, though, as it was marked by numerous chips and dents. As LeChuck cracked his knuckles (the sound echoed in the massive cavern; Armena winced) and rested his hands in exactly the spot where most of the chips were, she saw why. She glanced back at the half-open doors behind her. Guards had taken up positions there once again, and all was quiet.  
  
Did ye have somethin' ta tell me, or were ye just showin' up here ta bother me?  
  
She glanced back at LeChuck, then at the doors again. If she wanted to, she could probably escape right now, find her parents and get their help before she ended up dead...but the talisman, still cool in her hand, made her think otherwise. _After all_, she thought, _I brought five people back from the dead. It can't be that hard to do the reverse._  
  
I'm waitin', lass. He paused, then added, Ye look kinda familiar...have we met?  
  
Armena looked up at him and smiled. You sank my ship a few days ago.  
  
LeChuck chuckled. So ye didn't end up as shark bait after all, eh? And what would an apprentice like ye be doin' out on th'open sea?  
  
She quickly remembered the story she'd told Largo and repeated it, with some embellishment, to LeChuck. I was out hunting for Threepwood, she said, spitting on the ground for added emphasis. And actually it was lucky for me you attacked us--I got his trust, and his ship, and then I...well, I took care of him.  
  
LeChuck sat in silence for a very long time. Then, slowly, he got to his feet and began circling her, towering over her. Are ye tryin' ta tell me, he began, that a little girl like yerself got rid of Threepwood?  
  
She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. I told you, I took care of him. I've got his ship and his crew out by the docks if you want proof.  
  
LeChuck didn't seem very impressed, though. If anything, he looked annoyed. _I've _been tryin' ta get rid o'him for _years_, and then someone like _ye _comes along and takes care of it! Where's the fun in that, I tell ye? He looked down at her again, this time with a faint air of curiosity. How'd ye do it, lass?  
  
Oh. Um. Well...I've got this...um, well... She took a step backwards, trying to get out of the circle LeChuck had trapped her in. When he sensed her trying to back off, perhaps towards the doors, he simply widened his steps.  
  
Out with it, lass, he growled lowly.  
  
  


  
***  


  
Guybrush screeched to a halt at the end of the hall. The doors to the chamber Elaine had described were partway open--through them he could see LeChuck circling, and a tall, blonde-haired figure who had to be Armena--but there were four guards outside. And he was unarmed. It was a miracle the guards hadn't seen him yet; their attention was mostly on what was going on inside the room.  
  
He watched as Armena tried to make an escape but was cut off by LeChuck. Guybrush shuddered--he'd only grown taller and more intimidating during the time he'd spent as   
  
He took another, hesitant step forward, wary of being seen by the guards. They didn't take their eyes off the scene going on inside. He was about to take another step forward when Elaine tore past him, running, and with no attempt made at secrecy. She shot Guybrush a look of pure contempt over her shoulder as she went.  
  
Elaine came to a quiet halt in front of the guards, clearing her throat. Their heads snapped back around to stare at her. Hey...aren't you supposed to be a ghost? one asked, tilting his head to one side. Elaine gave him a faintly amused look.  
  
I guess LeChuck didn't hire you for your brains.  
  
  
  
She smiled in a sickeningly sweet manner and took off running down another hall, yelling for them to catch her if they could. All four of them rose to the bait--they ran after her with swords drawn.  
  
Guybrush's path was clear, but he hesitated again, wondering if Elaine might not need his help. The entire place was now swarming with LeChuck's men--if she wasn't careful... He took a deep breath. _She can take care of herself_, he thought, shaking his head. _Mena, on the other hand... _LeChuck now had her by the front of her shirt, a sight that made Guybrush's stomach twist into painful knots.  
  
He sprinted down the corridor towards the chamber as fast as he could manage.  
  


***  


  
Armena wiped the dust from her eyes and finally gave in. All right, she said, I'll tell you.  
  
LeChuck smiled and backed off a few feet. Aye? And?  
  
Guybrush sprinted into the chamber just as Armena was about to open her hand and show LeChuck the talisman. LeChuck didn't notice his entrance--all his attention was fixed on Armena, still dangling about a foot off the ground. Armena saw him run in out of the corner of her eye but kept her mouth shut, waiting for him to draw attention to himself.  
  
Um, you know what? Never mind. She smiled at LeChuck and then pulled the talisman in towards her chest, clutching it in her fist as tightly as she could.  
  
LeChuck's eyes narrowed dangerously. Give it to me, lass--whatever it be.  
  
Um, no, really...you don't want it. I don't think it even works right anyway, and-- she stopped as LeChuck's free hand moved towards her. Before she knew what was happening, LeChuck had grabbed onto her forearm and, wrapping his rough stone fingers around it, snapped Armena's arm like it was nothing more than a twig.  
  
Armena couldn't help it--she screamed. Her vision disappeared into a swirl of little black dots, and she certainly couldn't keep her grip on the talisman anymore. It clattered to the floor.  
  
LeChuck smiled at her. Thank ye, lass. He'd just bent down to pick it up when someone slammed into his waist.  
  
He looked down at Guybrush, who was standing just inches away, rubbing his nose. LeChuck's eyes widened, but for the most part he managed to hide his surprise. he grumbled, then looked at Armena. I guess ye weren't tellin' me the truth, now were ye, lass?   
  
Armena shrugged, wincing as the movement jostled her broken arm and sent black spots dancing across her vision again. I told you, I took care of him.  
  
He stared for a minute before he finally figured out what she meant.   
  
Cursing violently, LeChuck tossed Armena down to the ground--she landed on Guybrush, who then likewise fell over. Guybrush's hand instinctively wrapped around her broken arm, trying to protect it.  
  
Are you okay?  
  
What does it _look_ like? _No_! Armena disentangled herself from him and sat up just as LeChuck bent over them with a murderous look about him. The talisman lay abandoned on the floor behind him.  
  
Grinning, LeChuck grabbed Guybrush by the shirt collar and lifted him up off the floor. I don't know how the lass managed to resurrect ye, Threepwood, but she'll be havin' ta do it all over again when I'm through with ye! First ye get yerself resurrected by some fool girl, then ye come in here, and then ye try an' attack me! I beat ye, Dripweed, and ye know it! Why're ye even botherin' anymore?  
  
Guybrush grabbed onto LeChuck's arm--his hand didn't come anywhere close to making it all the way around even LeChuck's wrist--and started frantically pushing, trying to get out of LeChuck's grasp. he said at last, and left it at that. LeChuck just rolled his eyes.  
  
Ye never were much good with them retorts, Dripweed.  
  
  
  
LeChuck opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a bullet that ricocheted off his arm, narrowly missing Guybrush. It pinged off harmlessly towards the back of the cavern, echoing in the silence that suddenly developed. The bullet only took a tiny chip out of LeChuck's arm and probably did more damage to his pride than anything else, but he howled anyway and dropped Guybrush to the ground. Guybrush winced.  
  
LeChuck turned toward the doors, where Mad Johnathan the Incapable stood, his pistol still smoking. Who the hell're ye?  
  
Somebody with really bad aim, John answered, shaking the pistol like it was all its fault. I've really got to work on that...  
  
Ignoring Guybrush for the time being, LeChuck stepped over to John and pulled the pistol out of his hands. I'm gettin' just a little sick of yer little friends, Sheepgood. But at least this one's got the sense ta try and kill ye.  
  
John made a grab at the pistol, which LeChuck immediately threw out of reach. It clattered away into the dark, shadowy recesses of the cavern. He dived after it, much to LeChuck's amusement.  
  
Armena carefully--she winced every time her arm moved--picked herself up off the floor and made her way over to Guybrush. I have an idea, she said quietly, keeping a wary eye on LeChuck. Give me the talisman, I can get it to--  
  
Guybrush answered, sitting up. You've already broken one arm. Besides, it--  
  
What're ye two up to, eh? LeChuck leaned over them both, smiling darkly. Armena shrank away from him.  
  
Oh, um, nothing.  
  
LeChuck smirked at her, in particular. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, looking back and forth between Armena and Guybrush. Armena felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
  
LeChuck began slowly, that lass o'yers...she'd be about seventeen now, wouldn't she?  
  
Well, yeah... He looked over at Armena, who hastily shook her head. If she were alive, Guybrush added, composing his face into a mask of grief. LeChuck, however, would not be deterred.  
  
And ye, lass--ye'd be about seventeen now, wouldn't ye?  
  
Armena bit down on her lower lip and didn't say anything. LeChuck reached a hand out and, brushing her tangled hair away from her face, grabbed her chin. He held her there for half a moment before he jerked his hand away as if she were somehow poisonous. The recognition in his eyes was plainly, painfully obvious.  
  
She's not the one you want, LeChuck. Guybrush pulled himself to his feet, forcing LeChuck to take a step back.  
  
Oh no, Sheepgood--I'm thinkin' she's exactly who I've been lookin' for. He reached for her again; she shrank away. LeChuck laughed. Ye've got a bloody coward for a daughter, Threepwood! She must take after ye. Before Guybrush could even respond or think of a retort, LeChuck grabbed Armena by her shirt again, paying no heed to her broken arm. She had to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out.  
  
LeChuck paused and looked over at Guybrush with a distinctly annoyed air about him.  
  
If ye don't want ta watch the lass die, Sheepgood, I can have my guards take ye outside.  
  
Guybrush shook his head. Desperate, he scooped up the talisman from the floor and held it out towards LeChuck. No, no--just--just take this. Please. You can use it to turn me back into a ghost, or get rid of me, or anything you want! It works, just look at me--I'm alive again. Just please...let Mena go.  
  
LeChuck looked at the talisman with more than a little well-placed suspicion. Ye'd let me kill ye, eh? He grinned, his dark eyes lighting up with a sort of sickening inner fire. How about if I kill ye in a _different _way? I think I've still got that voodoo doll of ye somewhere...  
  
Guybrush shuddered but held his ground. that's fine. Just let her go, let her go back to Lucre or wherever she wants to go.  
  
Dad, you can't--  
  
Yes, Mena, I can. He smiled at her weakly, then returned all his attention back to LeChuck. Set her down, and I'll give you the talisman.  
  
LeChuck considered this for a moment. Then, No. Ye give me that bit o'glass first--now, or I'll kill the lass and then take it from ye! He shook Armena in emphasis, not caring as she pulled her arm close to her chest to keep from injuring it further.  
  
All right, Guybrush said, sighing. Take it.  
  
LeChuck quickly reached out with his free hand and snatched the talisman out of Guybrush's hand. He didn't bother with any sort of care or gentleness; his rough fingers almost scraped Guybrush's own hand raw.   
  
Now let her go, Guybrush said evenly, clenching his hand. A tiny bit of blood seeped out around his fingers.  
  
LeChuck loosened his grip on Armena, but not nearly enough to let her go. He smiled at Guybrush in a distinctly sickening manner. Sorry, Sheepgood. I've got that piece o'glass, and I've got yer _daughter_ now, too. What've ye got? Nothin'! And I'm not about ta let any lass o'yers just walk right outta here. He paused, and it seemed as if he'd suddenly been seized by another idea.  
  
How about if I use this talisman' on her, eh? What would it do then?  
  
Armena and Guybrush exchanged frantic, confused glances. I...I don't know, Armena finally admitted. I've never used it that way before.  
  
LeChuck's smile only grew wider. Well, we'll just have ta be findin' out, won't we?  
  
Guybrush jumped forward, trying to stop him somehow, but LeChuck was already moving to touch the talisman to Armena's skin. She, however, had other ideas. She reached out, struggling to ignore the pain in her other arm, and grabbed the talisman right out of LeChuck's hand. LeChuck moved to stop her, but too late. She had a strong hold of it, and she pushed it into LeChuck's chest with as much strength as she could possibly muster.  
  
As the talisman came into contact with both Armena's skin and LeChuck's cracked stone form, it suddenly began to glow with such intensity that Guybrush and Armena both had to look away from it. It dwarfed all the lights in the chamber--and, abruptly, put them all out. For a moment, LeChuck and Armena both seemed to flicker in and out of existence, as if locked in some strange sort of battle of wills. Then Armena, whole and solid, finally fell to the floor as LeChuck's hand became completely incorporeal. Somehow, though, he still managed to hold onto the talisman.  
  
LeChuck rematerialized for a brief instant, as if fighting the inevitable. He glared at Guybrush with such fury and intensity that the mighty pirate backed up almost into the wall in an attempt to avoid that stare. I hope ye suffer, too, Threepwood--I hope ye know what it's like ta never have the one thing ye want most! I hope ye know what it's like ta lose everythin' ye ever wanted! _Forever_!  
  
Guybrush just rolled his eyes, and with an ear-splitting _pop_, LeChuck disappeared. Only a very distant could be heard, fading away into nothingness. The talisman clattered to the floor.  
  
An acrid smell of smoke filled the air as all the torches flickered back to life at once. Guybrush coughed--the air was full of dust, a leftover remnant of LeChuck.  
  
He looked at the talisman. It lay on the floor, covered in a thick layer of dust, once again appearing murky and harmless. When Guybrush bent down to pick it up, though, it was hot to the touch. He jumped back, jamming his burned finger into his mouth.  
  
That was...interesting, Armena said, slowly--very slowly--picking herself up off the floor. Guybrush hurried over to help her.  
  
You get used to it after about the second time. He chuckled weakly. How'd you know that would work?  
  
Armena shook her head. I didn't. I just...I had to do _something_, and that was the only idea I had...  
  
Yeah, I think you definitely take after me a little too much. And I thought _my _plan was nuts. Guybrush shook his head and started for the door, gently leading Armena in that direction as well. Come on, we'd better get you out of here. And find Elaine, too.  
  
They were both, however, stopped short by the sound of a gun being cocked. Guybrush groaned. You know, this is _really _just starting to get ridiculous...  
  
Humor me. John motioned them forward. Come on, I need to get out of here. You two walk on ahead and get attacked by any guards that might be interested in stopping me, okay?  
  
As they moved forward, Guybrush looked at Armena and sighed. I really wish you'd left him where you found him, Mena.  
  
  
  
They'd just gotten out into the passageway--which was surprisingly lacking in any sort of guards--when John stopped. It took Guybrush and Armena both a minute to realize he wasn't following them and turn around.  
  
Elaine had somehow snuck up behind John from the hall running perpendicular to the passageway they were in and was now holding a gun to _his _head--and the sword in her other hand hardly looked friendly, either. I think you should put that gun down now, she said calmly. John wisely did as he was told for once.  
  
She kicked it far out of his reach and pushed him forward, almost sending him toppling into Guybrush. I've got the guards chasing themselves in circles looking for me. They shouldn't be much to worry about, since I guess LeChuck's gone, and-- she stopped, noticing the way Armena was cradling her right arm--and what happened to _you_? She shot Guybrush a look.  
  
Guybrush let go of John briefly to hold his hands up in surrender. What? It's not my fault!  
  
Yeah, right, John snorted out of the corner of his mouth. He started to make a break for it, but he didn't get very far before Guybrush had grabbed hold of him again.  
  
Elaine just sighed and rolled her eyes. Well, we'd better get that taken care of right away...we'll get you back to the ship, Mena, and then worry about those guards. She handed Guybrush her sword, then pressed the talisman--it was cool, almost cold now--into Armena's left hand. It was still covered with a thin film of dust that wouldn't come off, no matter how hard Armena tried to wipe it away. You'd better hang onto that, Elaine said. We'll be needing it before long.


	6. Epilogue: Her Distinctive Hand

Epilogue: Her Distinctive Hand**  
  
  
  
**

Guybrush lay in bed, not really awake but not really asleep, either. He hadn't been able to sleep for the last two nights; he was used to it by now. He and Elaine were staying in the Governor's Mansion on Mêlée, a brief, temporary respite from cleaning up the Caribbean. Elaine, relieved to be getting a break after months of work, slept like a rock. Guybrush didn't have the same luck, unfortunately. When the knock came at the door downstairs, however, he was glad to be awake.   
  
He jumped up out of bed--only checking as an afterthought to make sure he hadn't woken Elaine up--and hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He barely remembered, on the way down the stairs, to avoid the spot where the rug had been burned and some sort of rot had gotten into the wood. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd almost put his foot through it.  
  
The knocking came again, more insistently, just as Guybrush's bare feet touched the mansion's carpeted entryway. I'll be there in a minute, he called quietly, though he knew the person on the other side of the door had no chance of hearing him.  
  
He'd just opened the door when the man on the other side started to knock again, nearly hitting Guybrush in the face. Uh, sorry, the man stuttered. Then he looked at Guybrush's pants and had problems not snickering. They were pajama pants--fuzzy, with little bunnies on them.  
  
Guybrush closed the door a little ways and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Um, do you have...you know...a letter or anything?  
  
Oh, yeah, here. He fished in his pocket and brought out a small piece of yellow paper, folded over once and sealed with a small piece of tape. One of the ships brought it in a few minutes ago. With some supplies from Lucre. The pirate cast him an odd, suspicious glance as the letter changed hands. Though Elaine had long ago (though slightly unwillingly) cleared his name and he'd been more than a help in the fight to retake and restore the Caribbean, certain rumors still lingered.  
  
Guybrush nodded quickly. Yeah, thanks. He closed the door before the man could even respond, broke the tape and flipped the letter open. For a moment his stomach tightened with anxiety, but then his eyes fell on the familiar, if slightly scrawling handwriting, and he let out a long sigh of relief. He started to read, slowly, certain now that she was all right.  
  
_Dad --  
  
We pulled the raid off--we've got Booty Island back. And no, I didn't get shot at (though there were some skeletons with swords...just kidding!). Grandpa Marley's busy putting the mansion back together and getting rid of all the weapons & stuff LeChuck put into it. He says to tell Elaine that she owes him a visit one of these days (tell her I said hi, too).  
  
Since Phatt Island's almost back to normal, we finally sent John to the prison there...we got sick of him escaping and trying to kill me all the time. Just letting you know so you can stop worrying about that.  
  
We'll probably be here a while...heard you were staying on Mêlée for a few days; I hope this letter gets there before you leave. I probably won't see you until we launch the second attack on Pinchpenny, so...bye. Just wanted to let you know I was okay so you wouldn't worry.  
  
Bill says by the way.  
  
-- Armena  
  
P.S. My arm is fine, so stop asking.  
  
P.P.S. No, we still haven't found Largo. Hope you've had better luck.  
  
_ Guybrush had just folded the letter back up when Elaine came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. Is she okay?  
  
She's fine, Guybrush answered, turning the letter over in his hands. At least she says she is.  
  
Then she _is _fine. She kissed him on the cheek, gently. This is what she wants, Guybrush. You can't stop her.  
  
He sighed. I know, I just...  
  
Besides, if we're ever going to get the Tri-Island Area back to normal, we'll need all the help we can get. That includes her.  
  
Yeah, but she still could've stayed with us.  
  
Her arms seemed to tighten around his waist for a split second. But she didn't. Just...just give her a little space. She'll be back eventually.  
  
I hope so. He turned around, hugging her tightly. For a moment, he could've sworn he felt her flinch away, and he almost felt a compulsion to do the same...but it only lasted a brief instant, and he chalked it up to all the sleep he'd been missing lately.  
  
Elaine pulled away from him, dusting off his white tunic and straightening a few rumples. You need sleep, plunderbunny. Worry about Mena later. We've got work to do in the morning. She started for the stairs, carefully avoiding all the rotting spots in the floor. Guybrush looked at the letter one more time, clutching it tight in his hands, then followed after her.  
  
Elaine returned to bed immediately, but Guybrush lingered just inside the doorway for a few moments. He went over to the desk, opening a drawer literally stuffed full with little letters written on yellow paper. He dropped the latest one in, closed the drawer again, and had just picked up a pen to start a reply--when a pillow thwacked him in the back of the head.  
  
_Sleep_, Guybrush!  
  
He sighed. Setting down the pen, Guybrush picked up the pillow and returned it to its rightful place. Elaine's hand gently squeezed his arm as he climbed back into bed, silently reassuring him that everything was going to be all right. But he still couldn't sleep.


End file.
